Someone broke into my car

Literally what it means.

Someone broke into my car last night
shortly after someone took me home from
the bar. The glove compartment's innards were
splayed all over the passenger seat, the intestines
of insurance policies and registration.

I blamed it on n*****s, because that's what white
people do when they live outside their comfort zones.
Whoever it was, had trashed the backseat treating
it like a personal sex dungeon more than a case of
theft. They left the door ajar, not even respecting my
phobia of wasps. But all of this didn't offend me
so much. The truth is that they didn't steal a
goddamn thing.

Now I set at the Applebees' bar drinking beer and
eating apetizers because I realize that material items
are just material items. And I, have nothing to steal.