Last summer, while crossing College and Yonge Streets, I looked over at a phone booth. There was something red on top of it and I went to investigate. I’d assumed it was an address book until I opened it up to find a letter written inside of a coiled notebook with a fuzzy bell on the cover. It was someone writing a break-up letter to someone else named “squiggly.” There were lots of phone numbers in the last page of the book and we tried to call the voice mail number in order to return the book, but had no luck. So I took it home.
I used to work at a coffee shop frequented by an inordinate amount of methamphetamine-addicts. A pair of such unsavory types one day came in with an opened can of (I kid you not) clams, and began offering them to the shop’s patrons. These guys even made a little sign reading “Free Try Me Fresh” to advertise the treat. The men were eventually booted, and they left their sign behind. On the back of the sign was this absolute masterpiece of drug-art.
We just got back to Phoenix from a three week vacation to the east coast and found this note in our house left by some friend of the kid next door who was taking care of our dogs and plants. I particularly like the part about not having been up to anything, but, “I’M GETTING MARRIED AND MIGHT BE HAVING A BABY!!!!”