Thursday, December 19, 2013


"I watched these fall out of a guy’s brown bag and roll into the street,” wrote Pedestretarian contributor Anna Goren, “and I took a picture. Am I going to hell?” This is a question nearly everyone familiar with the concept of hell has asked themselves. According to somebody’s ideology, nearly everyone is deserving of eternal punishment, whatever form that may take. Nonetheless, based on my knowledge of hell, I would say Anna is probably not going there. Anything lasting an eternity seems implausible, and I can’t recall any circle of hell (I am best acquainted with Dante’s model) that was related to or contained tomatoes. However I would say it’s obvious that if such a hell existed, it would be one in which Anna constantly watched her own tomatoes roll away, perhaps while being laughed at by imps or other sinister mythological creatures. Of course, this damnation would be worth witnessing the actual moment of a food’s abandonment, as Anna did. She reports the tomatoes looked fresh, as they had just been purchased, but sustained some bruising on impact with the street.

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

Friday, September 20, 2013


The Bumbershoot VIP Hospitality Lounge has many things—spaghetti in paper boxes, salad with many blueberries and one fig, Pop Chips, damp granola, Pop Chips. Drinks are a dollar off, and perhaps this is why Pedestretarian contributor Sierra Nelson and I found so very many of them abandoned on the balcony overlooking the “Tune In” stage, where Gary Numan was playing. I was very drunk; I think Sierra was only slightly drunk. We decided to sample this mysterious bounty. None of the drinks were missing more than a sip. They were in plastic cups covered in condensation, and were pale in a way that suggested they had once contained ice. We each tried a pink thing with a lime floating in it, then spent what was probably a long time figuring out what it was. Because of the music (which sounded fantastic, even from the height of the balcony) the conversation was mostly shouts of “It’s citrusy!” and “Do limes carry Hepatitis?” It was Sierra who identified the drink as some variety of gin and juice, causing me to call her a “palate sleuth.” I drank a small amount of a cocktail that looked like a Coke-based something, but was actually not carbonated and very sour. I spit it out and yelled “I’m drinking tobacco juice!” and then “I love this song!” because I was actually watching Gary Numan play “Down In the Park” and that is awesome.

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

Wednesday, July 17, 2013


This mostly-eaten bag of white bread was in a gas station parking lot outside a My Little Pony convention in Seatac. Teenagers in pastel felt pony costumes crowded the parking spaces nearest the doors, drinking bourbon. Some were eating Twizzlers and fried chicken, but there was no observable bread-eating going on. The bread looked soft, but its motel continental breakfast looks indicated it contained enough preservatives to stay spongy for centuries. No one buys bread from a gas station unless they desperately want bread, so it was odd that any bread had been discarded. Someone probably ate most of the bag of bread rapidly in their car, and then threw the rest into the parking lot, overwhelmed by nausea and/or a sense of defeat.

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

Tuesday, July 9, 2013


It was a uniquely exciting moment when I realized the object on my friend Rachel’s deck was a deflated rubber turkey and not a deflated beach ball painted to look like meat. She had been using it as a flotation device at the beach. “I don’t know what’s wrong with it,” she said, “It won’t inflate anymore!” I picked it up and blew into its rubber valve as hard as I could, but the valve wouldn’t open and it made my face hurt. It also made me a little dizzy. I stood there swaying slightly and recalling the intoxicating scent of the bin of beach balls at the Fred Meyer near the house where I grew up. The turkey still lay shriveled on the deck the next morning. The light an inflatable turkey makes the least sense in is daylight.

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