Item 1: Wired Earbud Crime Scene

A wired cord dismembered, gruesomely twisted and knobbled, and, to add biting insult to lethal injury, discarded, leaving the frayed innards of the apparatus on full display. The earbud, meant for the left ear cavern, is itself untouched, creating severe and unsettling contrast: the effect is comparable to looking through the shattered windshield of a totaled car and seeing a spring-mounted dashboard ornament with a cartoonish grin, oscillating as merrily as ever. One is distressed perhaps most of all by the question of where, and in what condition, the right earbud is.

Item 2: Strip of Fabric

In my time as a reporter on the idiosyncrasies of the Lost and Found, I have come to consider myself somewhat difficult to surprise, but I cannot help but admit that this length of fleece threw me for a loop. This is the first item I have come across in my reporting career that I genuinely cannot identify. A scarf? A sash? A carpet to adorn an impractically narrow room, or to cascade down the edges of a flight of ‘70s-style stairs? A larger-than-life replica of a piece of bacon as viewed under ultraviolet light? No possibility seems to me likelier than another. I only hope that my confusion is now shared with my adoring fanbase, for perplexity loves company.

Item 3: Empty Plastic Bottles Festooned with Adjectives

To an extent, I pity these unlucky vessels: the cluttered Lost and Found shelves are certainly a far cry from the crystal purity of Natural Mountain Springs or the futuristic connotations of Vapor Distillation. Drained of nearly all liquid I assume they once held, these bottles find themselves purposeless. However, this was not an inevitable state of ennui: it’s common knowledge that you can recycle plastic bottles, and highly convenient receptacles can be found around Lincoln for this express purpose. Had these bottles been cast into the recycling, a transformational process would have been set into motion, providing them with new lives and, just as importantly, new reasons for living. Yet the finder chose instead to be guided by the abundantly (perhaps absurdly) cautious notion that these bottles’ original possessor might want them back, and the bottles are doomed to this plastic purgatory, with nothing to do except wait.

Item 4: Singular Sock

In an edition of the Report written the week of January 9th, I asked how a person lost paired, folded socks, and reached nothing that in any way resembled a conclusion. With this sock, the story is much easier to piece together: it is on the lowest shelf, at foot level, and appears lightly worn. Clearly, the wearer of this sock discarded it in a delayed fit of school spirit during Dogs Out Thursday, an event that proved beyond question the validity of my fears of widespread socklessness. I admit, however, that a day dedicated to celebrating the absence of footwear was a more extreme development than I ever expected. Trendwise, wearing socks is undeniably on the way out. Prepare for the bracing chill of February wind against unprotected ankles, insomuch as such a dismal prognostication makes it possible to prepare.