My six month (?) late entry is something a little different. Instead of some grand market in Asia, or a tiny hidden pub in some remote corner Ireland, I present the Sunday afternoon view from local laundromat … while I wash my skivvies. Also, lets…
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So I completely dropped the ball about following Photo 101. To make up for it, since I have the day off tomorrow (no, I don’t get to celebrate Thanksgiving, did that already), I am challenging my self to get half way through the photo assignments.
In the meantime, here is some street art from the hood.
I think I will write story based on this image. Stay tuned.
Inspired by the weekly photo challenge
Taking today to catch up on the writing 101 posts.
Across the intersection, a band is playing for the crowd. For once they are not too loud. The sound fills the corner as though it were a concert hall. A small crowd is growing and starting to spill onto the road.
Across the street from the band, couples are rushing to the theatre before tonight’s show begins. As the time creeps closer to 7:30PM, the pace of the show goers quicken, as though they are trying to escape the rain. No rain tonight, though, it is actually very nice for this day late in September.
Behind me on the terrace at the local Starbucks, a group is having a heated debate. I don’t know what they are debating, they are speaking middle eastern language of some kind. Their voices carry throughout the area, and it appears tempers could flare at any moment. The tension between them is broken every few minutes by string laughter and a few sips of their drink.
Right in front of me, cars are waiting at the stop light. One lady is very patient, but the taxi driver behind her is getting agitated. Every three seconds, he creeps his car forward an inch, as though he is trying to provoke her into jumping the light. At the green, the taxi driver maneuvers his Camry as fast as it can possibly can around the lady’s car, with tires screeching. He cut her off at the next intersection.
Now that the show has started and the doors are closed, the crowds on the street have thinned. New moms rushing home with sleeping newborns, students heading towards their Wednesday night watering hole, and the last of the bankers making their way to metro. The bankers have the slowest pace, as though the days financial events have weighed down their feet.
A piece of paper landed on my book, brought over by a gust of wind. You could tell the author had beautiful handwriting, but had trouble putting this one together. I quickly scanned it, and started crying. Like a sad cliché, I never cry. I did not cry when my first real girlfriend broke up with me. I did not cry when my grand parents died. But this letter broke me down. I saw the words storage and smaller apartment and not necessary anymore. After reading it twice, and looked for keywords trying to determine the intended recipient, because if they have not read it yet, they would need to. The sad part is in a city of three million, it could be anyone, or at least anyone roughly my age. Or it could potentially be me in about year, or a very good friend right now. And it tore me apart.