my scooter is gone!

My scooter has been stolen!!! I loved my scooter! It should have given it a name, but I never did, instead just thinking of it as a proper noun, "Scooter". There are a very few certain inanimate objects in my life that have witnessed so much of it that I imagine they have special views on what my life is like. Certain shirts have seen me as cool and sexy, my bike has seen me as wimpy yet intrepid, and this scooter saw me as independent and brave. Perhaps the inanimate object that sees all sides of me is my computer, but I use these other objects as mirrors for certain facets of myself. Gone with my scooter is my independence--really! I live in a tiny aboriginal village! There are 100 people in the town! Its a 40 minute drive to the nearest city... you need a scooter to pay a bill, to buy an egg, to basically do anything. Fortunately this happened when my time here is drawing to a close, but I'm still left angry and feeling betrayed by this seemingly idyllic, peaceful place nestled in a mountainside, where everyone treats me so nicely, where the air is so clean, where the people are so neighborly. of course, one stupid scooter theft changes nothing of this, but i'm allowed to be bitter for a bit.