I don't call it stealing, I call it scavenging. It's a tool of survival. One must, if she is wise and in need and I am at least one of those things, be always on the lookout for the scrap of others. It's rarely garbage in the literal sense,(more) rather, debris that makes a path behind thoughtless consumers, discarded as no longer useful or simply forgotten.
I live close to a college on Capital Hill and every year when the summer comes and hundreds of kids go home for their break, the alleys and sidewalks fill up with the tossed off detritus of their fruit fly consciousness. It's fucking Target out there y'all. Or Ikea or Best Buy, just pick yer poison. It's all there, only outside and free to make the whole shopping experience a little more pleasant and different. Beds, frames, furniture, TV's, computers, art supplies, clothes (lamentably boring clothes, I must say), DVD's, books, bicycles, what are you looking for? I'll keep an eye out for you.
Or better yet, when the summer comes, come on over! I live just south of the SU campus. Bring your car or a friend with a truck, you may find something big (a brand new waterbed? I didn't know they still made waterbeds). I hope you're as surprised as I by what constitutes garbage to some people. If you're like me, that sensation of being horrified by the sheer volume of crap will be closely followed by, "Oh, I could use that!" (less)
The scavenger ravaged, tearing each moment from bliss to shit. He tore through the fleshy coated layers, deep into parts of me I never knew did exist. Fighting I tried to use my limbs in a flailing block, yet he chewed through them like butter in the hot. The(more) final moment of resist, coming to the conclusion to just die and give in, letting go of all the thought of win. It was then when I ended my side, the challenge was over and the scavenger sat abide. There is no fight if only one gives into the strife, in the release my flesh restored and finally I was set free. (less)