There seem to be people who live in their storage units.

During the day, these people keep their doors open and we can see as we go past that the units are furnished inside with comfy chairs and wall art -- places where they can go about their business or their hobbies or where they can just relax for a while with a good book. 

It is a strange society that we live in now that this shadow world exists, this hidden village of the not-quite-completely dispossessed. I have no idea where the inhabitants of Storagia go at night -- perhaps to homes, perhaps nowhere. During the day, they seem happy enough. 

A couple of weeks ago, one of our neighbors was sitting on his threshold playing the guitar -- a lovely rendition of "Here Comes the Sun." He played very well, as far as I could tell (which is not at all). Yesterday, he reported that there have been a series of break-ins on our hallway. Sure enough, the metal bolt that keeps each individual door shut and to which the actual lock is attached on the unit directly across from his had been cut open with bolt cutters. 

The guy (whom we call "Santa Man" because he does, in fact, look like Santa Claus and for all we know Santa summers in Colorado, where he has plenty of time to hone his guitar skills -- also, he refers to himself as "Santa" and may not be kidding) said that "some really valuable guns" had been stolen from one of the units, which makes the whole "there are people living in their storage units and apparently they are armed" thing as American as possible. Jonathan is concerned because now, he says, the thieves are armed -- as if there was even the slightest possibility that they weren't already armed before. I'm only surprised that they had the wherewithal to take someone else's guns given the number of guns they were probably already carrying themselves. Meanwhile, the gigantic American flag flying on a flagpole outside is at half-mast.

I don't worry too much about our stuff being stolen -- the photo albums and baby shoes and used books and mementos of our dearly departed Spotty have no re-sale value. Nevertheless, I do not want our unit broken in to and these things that are precious only to us destroyed in any way.

Our next door neighbor was around yesterday and we agreed that too many people are owned by their property rather than the other way around and that we are only building prisons for ourselves with all this stuff we accumulate. Then she happily took a dozen ceramic plant pots that I have have gathered over the years back to her house.