There isn't a beeper on me.

Sounds like a kitchen timer. Sounds...it sounds annoying. And it's getting louder.

A door is open. The driver side of that green sedan is open. No driver. Wide open. And the beeping is coming from there.

Nowhere. They're nowhere. He is nowhere.

I can see the silvery tips dangling below the steering column. They are here.

"Seventeen cars are stolen in the the Bay Area every day," says the billboard above the 101.

It's just me, me and a few overly bronzed men.

Scanning the street I count :

Orange. There's one.

Orange. Two.

Orange. There's three.

In the seat, close the door, right onto Guerrero, left onto Cesar Chavez, north on 101.

Eighteen cars were stolen in the Bay Area today.