After that, some spray cleaner and a roll of Bounty paper towels, bought to remove the apple juice but foolishly left in the back seat, vanished. Sorry, Rosie, but on New York's streets Bounty is not the quickest picker-upper: The thieves are quicker. Then, a speaker went. And most recently, the radio. The steering wheel remains - at least when I last looked.

I'm hardly the only victim of predators. Walk along Riverside Drive any morning and look down on the ground. Every few feet, you'll see fresh nests of pellet-sized, Coke-bottle-colored glass, all of which were car windows only a few hours before.

The city is powerless and seems utterly incapable of stopping the problem, if not altogether indifferent to it. Of course, where there are dollars to be made - from parking violations -New York is uncharacteristically, uncannily Johnny-on-the-spot. Oversleep by five minutes or double park for 10, and invariably you'll find a ticket tucked under your windshield wiper.

But there's no profit in crime prevention, so the cars are sitting ducks.

The situation leads to strange consequences. Some New Yorkers take a Zen-like attitude and leave their car doors unlocked. Others adopt a more pragmatic approach. They carry on a bizarre one-way conversation with the pillagers through signs posted on car windows. Some are crude homemade jobs, some are printed stickers; some resemble ''Baby on Board'' notices. The tone varies, as drivers strive to sound firm without prompting gratuitous vandalism.

Most signs are straightforward. Some more comprehensive: Not only is there no radio; there's nothing in the trunk or glove compartment either. Some are defiant: ''No anything.'' Some are sardonic pleas for sympathy: ''No radio - already taken.'' Some are more informative: ''Nothing in the car - just maps.''