Living on the Edge
February 25th 2013 21:00
Just in case you think I’m the only semi-freegan around, I can count on Brett as being part of my club.
I discovered this by accident when two summers ago I discovered a half full bottle of whiskey outside the Art Gallery of New South Wales. Reluctant to see it go to waste and knowing how much Brett likes me to have whiskey on me whenever I entertain in my flat I decided to take it home. (Also from Brett’s low hygiene standards I had a sneaking suspicion he would drink it. Not that Brett has BO or anything like that but judging from his grubby fingernails I doubt he washes his hands much.)
We caught up a few weeks later. I pulled out the bottle. Brett grinned and was reaching for it when I stopped him.
“Just before you drink it, I should explain to you where it came from,” I said, stopping him.
Brett put the bottle straight to his lips.
I also discovered he had been using my mouthwash which means he must have been putting that bottle to his lips as well.
“He’s giving you a French kiss,” said one of my friends.
I could almost hear Andrea admonishing us the way she always does when I
tell her about my freegan experiences: “Your hygiene standards are the same as a third world country’s.”
“When I saw you pick up that packet of chips from the ground I knew we were going to be friends,” said Tony, a fellow semi-freegan. He called it "living on the edge”.
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