Saturday, April 23, 2011


Boren is so steep southbound traffic looks as if it’s dropping off the roofs of nearby apartment buildings, and this apple on Pine and Boren had shattered with such force it appeared to have fallen from at least that height. It was actually unclear whether it was one apple or two. Irregular chunks of apple littered the sidewalk, turning a glossy brown from what had probably been a day or two of exposure to the elements. The chunks were covered in narrow grooves that could have been carved by impact with the pavement or by a hungry rat or pigeon. The apple seemed so exposed on the bare stretch of sidewalk, cars rushing past it, it made me feel more exposed the longer I looked at it. A young couple carrying grocery bags from Whole Foods walked by and I stepped out of their way, avoiding eye contact. The apple looked as if it had been stared at since the sidewalk was paved, though the lack of mold proved it couldn’t have been there more than a couple of days. My increasing feelings of conspicuousness and my own lack of mold made me identify with the apple to such an extent that when I ate a piece of it, carved carefully out of the center of the biggest chunk, it felt like an act of cannibalism. It was warm from the sun and slightly too sweet, with a faint taste of decay. It was probably a honeycrisp apple.

If you find food on the street, send location and description to

Saturday, April 16, 2011


Countless things have been have been put in this mailbox on 12th and Howell—utility payments, seasonal postcards, letters to grandmas and other relatives. One has to wonder why this package of pork chops was excluded. Perhaps it is because it was unwrapped, perhaps because of its lack of appropriate postage. The ability to raise questions like these is the essence of what we call “mystique.” Pedestretarian contributor Kelly O provided more questions than answers about this wayward meat. She did not witness any attempts to mail the chops, saying that rather they appeared to have been “abandoned.” Graying slightly around the edges, their complete scentlessness was inexplicable. Kelly stood alone on the sidewalk and felt overwhelmed by nostalgia for summer barbecues. Like the sex lives of celebrities, haunted houses, and all things that possess true mystique, the pork chops inspired an intense longing for barbecue, but completely failed to cause a barbecue to happen. There is nothing one can do in the wake of such failure but step away from the slightly spoiled precipice of the unknown and continue down 12th to get pizza or something.

If you find food on the street, send location and description to

Wednesday, April 6, 2011


The parking garage on Pine and Boylston didn’t look like much from the street—fluorescent light shone out between its concrete layers as if from the facial orifices of an angular, mold-covered jack-o-lantern. Yet something drew me past the entrance’s row of tire spikes into the dumpster-lined interior of the parking garage. It was there that I found this pizza crust, barely visible between a van and a small Honda. The crust, which appeared to have been part of a slice of pepperoni, was surprisingly soft and fresh. It was cold from the pavement, but relatively clean except for some tiny gray rocks stuck in the sauce. Though no cheese remained on the crust, it was flavorful, with a slight aftertaste of what may have been Windex. The cement walls reflected enough light to make even the smallest of the rocks in the sauce easy to spot and avoid. Soft dough and pepperoni remnants fuelled my trek out of the fluorescent garage of discovery to the dark street, where a woman in a leopard-print dress yelled obliviously at Linda's patrons lounging against a wall.

If you find food on the street, send location and description to