Time: 1:59 a.m.
this is a text file I composed about six months ago while at work, consisting of one- or two-line bits that set a scene. I was bored as fuck and didn't want to make an ugly flash movie.
(N.B. the elite will acknowledge kool keith references hidden within
he wrote a carefully designed and insidiously executed story which mentally crippled his teachers.
she slowly packed her belongings into crates to be shipped internationally.
light whipped through the subway car as it passed over the bridge.
the point of view suddenly switched to another man on the opposite side of the city.
there were a good quantity of people there but no one was selling.
it was easy to envision but next to impossible to execute.
he couln't stand the look on his face after he took him home, so he left his own apartment at midnight, to wander.
her younger sister is far more intelligent, but less motivated.
for some reason the good ideas always coalesce and devolve back into the one master concept, which has no real name.
she was always sure she shouldn't have moved even with no empirical evidence.
he liked middle eastern food but he was sick of eating it every day after work, so he didn't call her back.
the product was highly anticipated for all the wrong reasons.
he hated breaking in, so he seduced the doorman.
the phone still sat in the corner, where she'd thrown it.
the thup-thup-thup of helicopter blades echoed over the Queens slum.
butts littered the desk near the brimming cup that had been repurposed as an ashtray.
a minor power surge blew the fuse and the room went dark, stopping the debate.
she couldn't stand the sight of his dishes in the sink so she washed them while he went to return the movie.
she strained to hear him breathe.
his keyboard tapping slowed down and he leaned over to peer at what he saw on the screen.
most people just don't appreciate the sheer volume of mental labor it takes to make just one or two, let alone an entire order of that size.
the woman at the coffee bar never knew what was wrong with him but she knew something was going on, for sure.
rabbits jumped out of the way as the car crested the top of the hill, headlights shining into nothing.
his room was never big enough but they made do quite nicely.
you motherfuckers think I'm crazy, right? well I am.
she saw a rat out of the corner of her eye, right before the train whipped past her.
he could read the infuriation of a mother trying to feed her two-year-old son in the face she made, reflected in the chrome curve of the counterstool.
she passed a boy holding a girl's hair as she threw up in the bushes on her way out, the beat still resounding in the fall air.
3-day-old coffee was sitting in the machine when he returned.
the cd was cracked in half when he bought it, but they wouldn't give him his money back.
the man stamping his passport raised one eyebrow, but otherwise he passed through without a hitch.
there were stories of a fireball erupting from below and sweeping through the entire ship, killing everyone in its path.
her mother had left nine messages on the answering machine.
he climbed over the refuse and jumped to the ground, searching for the doorway he'd been told about on the phone.
the sky was gray. it remained gray for three weeks.
you witnessed the killing.
your man got scared,
called riverdale with a baseball cap,
took a cab to hawthorne...
I know where he's going.
you can't hide in an empty apartment
with a mattress
and no protection.
there wasn't much left of either of the dogs.
the photograph was 8 by 10 and glossy. it trembled in his hands.
she was utterly infatuated with him, to the point where she couldn't sleep.
why in god's name is it this hard to think of anything realistic and approachable?
the font was completely overused but he used it anyway, knowing how cheesy it would end up looking.
her fingers dug into the carpet as she sorted through the records. her head was bobbing but no music played.
writing was easier for him after his laptop was stolen.
he never stopped joking about the drug, even long after he was so addicted that he had to smoke it four or five times an hour.
she carved into the steel with her chisel, not slowing down, even when the door creaked open.
his nonstop sarcasm got on everyone's nerves, but no one said anything because they agreed with him mostly.
his priviliged background got on everyone's nerves, but no one said anything because they coveted his apartment and clothes.