Looking for …

Livin' on the edge!

He’s here, in case you’re wondering. Or he was, last time I looked. Still sort of lolling around on the stairs of my building, half on and half off a step, showing off his balancing skills. Still trying to seduce me into picking him up, lifting him up to my nose and inhaling whatever cheap chocolate scent lingers, and then hiding him in my jacket pocket, where I will feel him crumple beneath my fingers and keep forgetting to throw him out … or encouraging me to dash to the nearest choco-shop in search of one of his many doppelgängers.

Oh, dear sweet Mr. G., you should know that if I’ve gone this long without giving in to my baser needs, I’m certainly not going to sin with the likes of you. Please. Save that sort of flimsy temptation for suburban soccer moms who don’t know what true debauchery is, who still think that Godiva is the height of chocolosity.

*   *   *
So it seems as if there has been a theme here lately. A theme of “found objects”. A grimy postcard. A dirty dollar bill. A tasty dime. (And other gems that I have not “shared” with my panting public. My lawyer advises me not to post photos of the pancreas I found in a shoebox on Seventh Avenue until the trial is over.) If I were the sort who felt compelled to actually save everything she found on the street, I suppose I could arrange all of this garbage in a pleasant, light wood IKEA shadowbox and display it in my foyer. Alas, I have no foyer. Which is fine because I have no such compulsion either. I already tore up the postcard I found the other day and ate the dollar bill. I spent the dime. No collages for me, thank you.
But I do like seeing what other people discard. Even more, I like seeing what they lose. (Like the dollar bill. What I didn’t mention last week was that I rescued the dollar bill from the sidewalk just moments after it escaped from the grasp of its owner.) “One man’s trash …” and all that. Occasionally there is treasure, but more often it’s just filthy garbage that should remain where it is.
Draw what symbolism you will from all of this. Craft a metaphor full of deep meaning. Or just drop it. (Onto the street, so I can pick it up and marvel over it for 20 minutes.)