Ben Gibbard Shares My Pain

Mood: Broody

Music: This Place Is a Prison, The Postal Service

China has not made it easy to keep up with my usual Pic o’ the Week’s (last week we had no power, the week before we had no internet), but I have one this time, so I got that going for me. It’s a picture of the new bars that were installed on the outside of our windows. Now I know what you’re thinking—Chris, we told you not to make fun of Mao and call them Orientals—no, no. The bars were put there with our consent. We had them installed because last week someone broke into our apartment during the wee hours of the night.

He (She? It? They?) opened the kitchen window, which is loud and woke Christina up. I (he who sleeps through earthquakes) did not stir. Christina told me that she came out into the living room to see what the noise was but couldn’t see anything wrong. It wasn’t till the next morning when I went to put the kettle on the stove that I saw our kitchen window—a window we never open because there is no screen—was wide fucking open. I asked Christina if she happened to open it. That’s when she told me about the noise that woke her up.

So we guess Christina’s coming out to the living room scared whoever it was off. I gotta hand it to whoever it was—we live on the second floor and there are some thick wires that would make it hard to get to our window. Robert, the New Zealander, thinks whoever it was thought the apartment was empty. But I ask why, then, would (s)he want to get in?

We made the school officials install better locks on the windows and they offered the bars. We reluctantly assented, and so here they are:

Prison Bars.JPG

I took this one. It was not a fun picture to take. At least we can sleep a little easier, I guess….

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