Some random writing...
As my script has stalled and I'm sick of writing out the same list of kanji characters over and over, I decided I would try to write a story. I've had several images stuck in my head for a few days and I was curious to see what would happen if i just stuck them all inthe same, weird, random, story.
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The elderly couple at the next table looked over at the sound. As if disappointed at the lack of messy chaos, they returned to their meals. They reminded him of cows chewing grass. Toothless lips squishing potato chips into a white pulp before swallowing. Each wore a separate pair of earphones plugged into identical AM Walkmans. He wasn’t sure how they had heard the ring hit the tiles over the blaring static.
He bent down and picked up the ring. It had bounced twice before rolling into the little gap between the tiles, cushioned between a cigarette butt and a receipt crumpled into a tight, marble-sized clump. He slipped the ring back over his middle finger. It slid back on as easily as it had slid off. He shivered.
The waitress came and took his cup as the Story Bridge collapsed into the sunset.
Walking down Edward Street, an electric-wheelchair-man is blowing red-faced on an electric-harmonica plugged to an electric-amp. He blows the same note again and again, as if he hopes that if he blows hard enough a song will come out.
People throw change at his useless legs.
All the foodcourts in this city are downstairs. Did you ever notice that? Down escalators and elevators and stairs and wheelchair ramps. Bomb shelter foodcourts. It comforts him that if the city was blown apart tomorrow, there would still be sushi and juice bars.
An unmarked police car goes through a red light on Edward and wipes off the door of a taxi going through a yellow light off Queen. People gathered around. He could see the elderly couple with their separate earphones. Their faces were the solemn expression required for a car crash scene, but someone in their Walkmans said something funny and they both laughed simultaneously, an awkward duo among the crowd of solemn expressions.
He decided he would rather walk on Adelaide Street, and wondered if radio waves were funny, even if you couldn’t hear them. Walking diagonally across roads, the distant sound of harmonica bouncing off buildings almost sounded like a Bob Dylan’s song he never knew the name of.
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The elderly couple at the next table looked over at the sound. As if disappointed at the lack of messy chaos, they returned to their meals. They reminded him of cows chewing grass. Toothless lips squishing potato chips into a white pulp before swallowing. Each wore a separate pair of earphones plugged into identical AM Walkmans. He wasn’t sure how they had heard the ring hit the tiles over the blaring static.
He bent down and picked up the ring. It had bounced twice before rolling into the little gap between the tiles, cushioned between a cigarette butt and a receipt crumpled into a tight, marble-sized clump. He slipped the ring back over his middle finger. It slid back on as easily as it had slid off. He shivered.
The waitress came and took his cup as the Story Bridge collapsed into the sunset.
Walking down Edward Street, an electric-wheelchair-man is blowing red-faced on an electric-harmonica plugged to an electric-amp. He blows the same note again and again, as if he hopes that if he blows hard enough a song will come out.
People throw change at his useless legs.
All the foodcourts in this city are downstairs. Did you ever notice that? Down escalators and elevators and stairs and wheelchair ramps. Bomb shelter foodcourts. It comforts him that if the city was blown apart tomorrow, there would still be sushi and juice bars.
An unmarked police car goes through a red light on Edward and wipes off the door of a taxi going through a yellow light off Queen. People gathered around. He could see the elderly couple with their separate earphones. Their faces were the solemn expression required for a car crash scene, but someone in their Walkmans said something funny and they both laughed simultaneously, an awkward duo among the crowd of solemn expressions.
He decided he would rather walk on Adelaide Street, and wondered if radio waves were funny, even if you couldn’t hear them. Walking diagonally across roads, the distant sound of harmonica bouncing off buildings almost sounded like a Bob Dylan’s song he never knew the name of.