To the Person Who Stole the Bag from the Backseat of My Unlocked Car: I hope my sparkly gold eyeshadow palette clashes with your beady thieving eyes. Please enjoy the limited-edition Kate Spade glasses—they're prescription. And despite its overwhelming floral aroma, even my Viva La Juicy Couture perfume can't mask the wretched stench of petty theft. My favorite sterling silver ring was in the pocket beside a ticket stub for the last Avengers movie my ex-boyfriend took me to which honestly wasn't that good anyway—the relationship or the movie—so you can keep that one for your scrapbook. And my new black heels, size eight and a half, I hope you put those to good use. I hope they trip you up on the sidewalk when you’re holding a coffee and it spills all over your white shirt, leaving a faint but noticeable brownish stain you can never quite get out while the contents of your purse (the one you stole from me) spill out across the street and fall into a sewer grate. Or better yet I hope your partner/lover/hook-up finds the shoes in the bottom of your closet, calls you a lying, good-for-nothing, sleaze of a person and storms out the door, still wearing your favorite sweater which always looked better on them anyway. And I hope when you sell the remainder of the contents of my bag on Craigslist or eBay or Facebook Marketplace—wherever the greedy creeps hang out these days—that it amounts to less than the $20 which you could have taken from my center console in the first place, saving us both a lot of trouble.
text by ELIZABETH SAK
art by SISSI CHEN
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