The charming detritus that appears in each issue of Found is replaced here by unnecessarily long essays about encountering other people's cast-off stuff, nearly all of them capped off by some cloying moral about how the stuff we find says as much about ourselves as it does about other people or some crap like that. Sweet Christ, there's even a work of short fiction about a dude trying to remember a wild party by looking at a photo, then realizing he's gay.
Found Magazine works because there is no context. When you get a bunch of pretentious people to write endless speculation on what the context for all these objects may have been, you destroy everything that made Found worth buying. Found Magazine made me more interested in other people; this anthology makes me hate them.
eBook Requiem for a Paper Bag