Hell hath broken loose
Amusingly enough, after the last post about a lack of junk in the milk crate, I checked on it today to find a mess of things. The photo doesn't even show them all, so crammed to capacity was the crate. To make things easier for everyone (and also because there aren't enough lists on this site) I've compiled an itemized list of the contents:
1. One soiled copy of last week's
Now.
2. One empty styrofoam cup, of the smallest possible size.
3. One travel size bottle of Scope mouthwash, Cinammon Ice flavour.
4. One paper bag, crushed.
5. One bag of corn nuts.
6. Two mints, still in wrappers.
7. One empty mint wrapper.
8. One cardboard pizza plate, orange in colour.
9. One piece of falafel wrap paper, stained with hot sauce.
C'est tout.
Ho-hum.
You know, the garbage that people were leaving in the milk crate was a lot more random and entertaining when I wasn't writing about it. It's as though the neighbourhood litterers got wind of this insanely successful blog and decided to stop being quirky, trading empty extravagant champagne bottles for Burger King blueberry pie boxes. Yawn. I for one am bored of this racket, how 'bout you kids?
The stars have aligned
This last bit of treasure is astrologically appropriate -- it's a flyer for Virgo Beauty Salon. They specialize in "all types of hair" and are currently looking for a part-time barber. Part-time barber I am not, but virgo I am. I should start getting my hair cut there, right? That would only make sense. They've also got a "discount special on treatment and colour," whatever that means. I don't really know what these treatments are, but maybe they're for hair types other than my own.
Anyway, this flyer made it into my milk crate, despite the presence of several other bikes with milk crates and classier baskets in the vicinity. It's as though the litterer knew.
647-280-9699
So he’s walking down Bloor on a sunny Friday afternoon, and he thinks to himself, “Man, I really could go for a cigarette right about now.” Reaching into the inner pocket of his vest (he is nothing if not hobo-chic) he pulls out his pack of DK’S, that “full flavor Canadian blend” that spells flavour the American way, despite being emblazoned with a Canadian flag. Opening the pack he grabs the last cigarette, lights it, and begins smoking.
But what to do with that empty pack? Oh, here comes the answer—toss it into the milk crate of that bike parked in front of the market. This corner is missing a garbage can after all.
And that’s how the crate ended up with this last memento. Unfortunately for the unknown smoker, however, there was a phone number written on the back of the empty pack. Although not formally trained in the art of handwriting interpretation, I can say one thing with certainty: it looks like a girl’s writing. So it seems dude has lost out: from the way she curves the two circles of her ‘8’s, I’d guess she’s fairly attractive.
