The Place

Garsh!

I read this and was inspired. Your first sentance grabbed me and the rest held me fast. You have amazing detail and clarity- I was in that coffee shop ordering along with you.

My favorite sentance had to be this one-

"It's what the air tastes like; gritty and delicious, like a curse word when you roll it around your mouth and off your tongue for no real reason other than the pure, beautiful decadence of the unnecessary."

It's... amazing. I could taste the air. I could almost feel the heaviness of sea air- even though you said nothing about the water in the air- which shows how amazing this piece was.

Keep writing and KEEP ME POSTED. You're amazing!

Taylor

Pigeon3 wrote:Well, it looks like I'm writing about my writing, again. This is a place in my mind (and my mind is located in a mixture of Sydney Harbour and the streets of Halifax, while my heart is quite certainly in New York at Winter time) where some of my better writing comes from, but is not set in. So, welcome to the inside of my head, I hope you enjoy your stay:



Cigarette smoke is the first thing. It's what the air tastes like; gritty and delicious, like a curse word when you roll it around your mouth and off your tongue for no real reason other than the pure, beautiful decadence of the unnecessary. The sea is the second thing. There's a strong tang of salt in the air and you can feel waves breaking against the would-be-boundaries of your world. Dark clouds threaten a storm, with a little more menace than storm clouds ordinarily possess. You're watching the pavement slip past under your feet as you head towards a small café, reached through a side street, and in which every customer is a regular. It isn't sign-posted, but you can smell the coffee from a distance. You know instinctively that it is fair-trade coffee. Inside there will be a maximum of one staff-member visible at any given time. They will be more or less androgynous and wear heavy dreadlocks. The tables will be uncovered, dull wood, and the chairs will be comfortably worn; they have always been comfortably worn. At the counter you will make a donation to save the orangutans, because other coins visible through the Perspex box made you feel guilty, and you will order (just) a coffee. At your table the ash-tray will be overflowing and the sugar packet dispenser will be empty. The music will be too low for you to make out the lyrics and the lighting will be too low for you to make out the other customers' faces. However, an examination of the people in the café will inexplicably cause you to realise that your hat doesn't really suit you and that you preferred your natural hair colour.