stories and creators

So the grandma met the devil on the street. She looked at him and walked on. and when the devil spoke the grandma kept steady. she kept steady and she walked towards the beach and then onto the sea, one step at a time. steady. The grandma walked on and on, till the sun melted into the waters and the stars poked their shiny heads out of the darkening blue. The grandma walked steady.

The grandma reached the other shore and she met the man. He wore a simple white shirt, and a towel across his neck, which he reached for from time to time to wipe of the sweats collecting on this eyebrows. He was engrossed in typing but on hearing the sound of footsteps bouncing off the earth he looked up. The grandma walked up to him, peered into his eyes and smiled, "So, it's you."


And yes, the man, Edward P. Jones, read part of his short stories out loud and breathed life into them, and the girl on the audience stand smiled. The people around her, too, were smiling. She had never read a single line he wrote but she knew she would read plenty after tonight.

New York

New York. People. lots of people. trash on pavements and scattered cigarette buds. tight tank tops and protruding nipples, bandanas and purple tights. dreadlocks and dirty blond hair. horse tattoos. crystal earrings. brand-named clothes and impeccable suits. wheelchairs. high heels. dog pee and mouse-like dogs. coffee shops and thrift stores. vendors. long sexy legs, tanned and pale... the list goes on.
He laughed over the phone "I've been meeting tons of people and gettin better at it. It's all about putting yourself out there. I kiss girls, kiss anything, actually!"

City influence. You got to push and grab. otherwise you get nowhere. get nothing.

The heat. the excitement. So many things to do. so many people to see. But what if after a while you realize among the thousands of people out there there're only so many types. and that the faces start looking one and the same?