I’ve never come home to find my house robbed before, but I can imagine the feeling. Like being punched in the gut – dismay and shock. Disbelief.

This feeling of anguish was how I felt tonight, as I opened garbage bag after bag, brimming with food. I felt even more disgusted than normal.

It’s long overdue that I write about something other than the things I find in the garbage in New York. But… it never ceases to amaze me, so here I go again.

Tonight was lovely. I headed out on my bike after dark. Down Bedford Ave, through the Hasidic Jewish neighbourhood of Williamsburg, which was livelier than ever this evening. 

It’s still a bit embarrassing, I suppose, to pull up on a bicycle in front of a grocery store, and start carefully untying the knots on heaps of garbage bags with a headlamp. It’s not that I’m worried someone will see me and recognize me. I’d probably like that – I could explain myself. It’s all the people walking by that just casually glance over me. All those people that I can’t explain myself to. That’s who I’m thinking about when I glance around to see who’s looking.

Since the first day I got here, I’ve wanted to go out dumpster diving with my housemates. Partly because I’ve been eating the perogies and thai noodle soup and blueberries and apple cider and more (the fruits of their labour), and I want to contribute to our freegan based kitchen. And partly for the experience. (Freegan-ism, in a nutshell, is a vegan diet unless the food is averted from the waste stream)