FOOD ON THE street

I’ve always been fascinated by food left behind — a quiet snapshot of the city, the people who move through it, and the things that go unnoticed. No context, no backstory. Just a pretzel’s last stop, a spilled drink dissolving into the pavement.

At first glance, it might seem odd to document something so mundane or messy. But in these discarded moments, I see a kind of unintentional storytelling. Each scene is a fragment of daily life — someone rushing to catch a bus, a meal that didn’t satisfy, a late-night snack turned casualty of the sidewalk.

There’s an intimacy to these small ruins. They remind me that our cities are shaped not just by what we build, but by what we leave behind. The debris itself is part of the story — evidence of neglect as much as of living. The mess is never just mess; it’s a trace of how we exist together, and how easily we let things slip away. In a way, these images are about presence through absence — a record of fleeting routines and private hungers made public. They’re part documentation, part quiet poetry.