Create!

Giving myself the morning off, I decided to sit down with a cup of coffee, listen to some Prokofiev, and read poetry. I needed this: I often overwork myself and skip these needed break days. Continue reading “Create!”

Impressions of a True Food at dinnertime 

Throughout the week, I write down moments out of the day about fascinating details of the environment and the people around me. I’ll be posting them here every Monday.

A tattoo on the girl’s wrist.

Continue reading “Impressions of a True Food at dinnertime “

Impressions from a Sunday Train

Throughout the week, through all the stress and the busyness, I take a moment out of the day to write down some details about the environment around me. I’ll be posting them here every Monday.

The middle aged man with the grey-brown hair lifts the bud from his left ear and listens as the train’s conductor mumbles something he thinks is important.

A smile brims to the lips of the man across from me watching his phone.

The Asian man sleeps next to me with his arms crossed.

I look at the Greek letters K A P sewn into a young man’s hoodie. A renegade string has come undone from the orange trim that surrounds the blue letters. Its presence is menacing and free.

The woman’s pinky and ring fingers curl as her middle finger curls as she points to the things on her phone.

The older man standing in front of me gestures with his left hand. It is worn, hairy, slightly tanned. His wedding band glimmers.

The young man next to me, brown hair and blue eyes, sees without seeing.

Everyone’s running shoes are new: marathon day.

• A young child hides behind his uncle in the train seat.

A woman looks out with large brown eyes to the sky.

Impressions of an Andersonville Dive Bar

Throughout the week, through all the stress and the busyness, I take a moment out of the day to write down some details about the environment around me. I’ll be posting them here every Monday.

The dark blue light bathing the vintage cash register. Continue reading “Impressions of an Andersonville Dive Bar”

Impressions on a Saturday night

Throughout the week, through all the stress and the busyness, I take a moment out of the day to write down some details about the environment around me. I’ll be posting them here every Monday.

The phosphorescent shimmer of the rescued African rosewood bar top at Jerry’s Continue reading “Impressions on a Saturday night”

Impressions on a Saturday Train

Throughout the week, through all the stress and the busyness, I take a moment out of the day to write down some details about the environment around me. I’ll be posting them here every Monday.

A butterfly wobbles on the air a meter above the train tracks. I hear the rumble of the approaching red line.

Inside, the air smells slightly of feces

The young man has small lips; when he smiles his pudgy cheeks shows a youthful glee.

The black woman’s feet pressed into her flats look like an old chipped leather bag.

The boy next to me, fashionably dressed, is asleep, his eyes closed behind his $100 sunglasses, his lips closed and puffed out to kiss the awaiting goddess of his dreams.

Two lovers hover over the one’s phone like two kids peering over a ledge.

A young man in a Cubs hat and wearing a jacket with a green alien symbol on it rests his arms on a weathered brown leather briefcase. (I look at the black woman’s leathery feet to see if the metaphor holds; it does.)

There’s something odd about the way the young man in front of me sips his coffee. I ignore everyone and watch him—he lifts his arm up, the tops of his fingers parallel with the floor. I miss the act because a person passes in front of me. I wait again. He does it again and this time I see it and see nothing strange. But there’s a hint of strangeness still. I wait. The train car stops. He checks his phone. Then he lifts his hand, his arm following. And then I see his fingers curled down instead of curled tight around the circumference of the paper cup. Like bird’s wings spread halfway, the tips of the feathers pointing down. This means he is holding the cup by the sheer integrity of his thumb and forefinger, with the other three digits merely for show. It is an elegant, almost precocious act, now that I notice his age is younger than I thought. He knows none of this.

The cautious weary eyes of a middle aged white women getting on a city train for the second time. Her first time was when she was ten.

The blue-green-grey-white camouflaged book bag of the black woman resting against her high thigh. She reaches down and scratches her leathery foot.

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