Guns, guards and gates

Years ago I lived - not quite legally - in a studio in St Kilda’s landmark George Hotel. I owned an old station wagon which I kept in a nearby parking lot frequented by junkies. Many mornings, around 3 am, the sound of car alarms woke me. But I returned to sleep certain that, in a party of smashed car windows, my car alone would remain undamaged. Soon the sirens hardly disturbed me. [Introduction]