Nonfiction | Postcards

Addicted to back alleys

See also: garbage picking for profit

Garbage day is my favourite day. I am like a dog, sniffing my  way down back alleys and narrow streets, looking for gold. Finding soggy cardboard boxes, chipped IKEA furniture and bent ceiling fans instead. Sometimes, a miraculous pizza box. On better days, a canvas. 

Gold, more gold, gold. 

City life is inexhaustible. It is addicting.

Childhood, I sat backseat watching the same cornfields pass. Rows of incremental changes nearly unnoticeable.  Nature’s growth was a pleasant, ignorable background.  But in the city, I succumb and absorb the changes which are so erratic and so thorough that the same walk home surprises, delights and disgusts me every night. I follow my nose to find what’s next, what’s next, what’s next.