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 firstname.lastname@example.org