woof.
Every day I walk up and down Avenue A combing the street for black plastic milk crates full of free vegetarian hotdogs. Every day is more disappointing than the next. I can hardly put one foot in front of the other because everywhere I look: I do not see a black plastic crate full of discarded soy tubes.
It is becoming hard to get myself out of bed in the morning. Sure, I have love, food, shelter, a great life, etc. But do I have weird food—like an abundance of mysteriously abandoned weird food—that I could use to feed a lot of unsuspecting, or adventurous (TBD), guests at a some kind of maniacal Russian Roulette Backyard Barbecue?
No.
At least not until today.
Thank you torn cardboard sign for catching my eye. I’m not sure why more menus aren’t printed on cardboard. And thank you, person skulking around the East Village with a black plastic crate of veggie dogs that you don’t want for a perfectly legitimate reason. What a magnanimous gesture; no one can accuse you of being up to no good.
Nice move leaving them next to a construction site, makes sense. If only the hospital would finally approve the Veggie Dog Safe Harbour Dropbox. So many of our black plastic crates of unwanted Veggie dogs end up in dumpsters. It’s wrong.
Anyway, are you guys around this weekend?
