To the police:

I know we've had our differences in the past. It was a snare drum, not a pistole. But no matter. I found all this stuff on the street. Armoire, yes. Picture frames with pictures of New Yorkian imagery. Chrysler building, Brooklyn Bridge, can't go wrong there. The velour purse filled with papers--I haven't looked at the papers yet--I'll use as a gag joke. Pictures of cats and babies--like there were beggging me to take it. (Ask my friends how much I love cats and babies.) I feel dirty for all of this. But it was all dumped in front of my house. Some of the items I was amazed, embarrassed about. Some of the items I wouldn't touch, left in the pile outside. You'll just have to come and see yourself. I'm not a materialist, though I am lusting for a nanopod. But beyond that, I'm not really greedy. There's no motive. And apparently, this is a victimless crime. It's just shit that I found.

That's the record. I can't get the armoire up the stairs. Tomorrow, I'll give it another whack.