Story Lines

Storylines2

If the sounds of your thoughts become quieter, the sounds of a city as loud as New York will become a pleasant soundtrack.

Walking for 15 minutes noting down the sounds as they enter my ears. The list of the underneath things is what I could still decipher from my own handwriting.

Storylines1Writing while walking:

car passing by

signal of a truck in reverse, loud beeping sound

car

truck

signal of a truck in reverse, loud beeping sound

cars

whistling man (“ New York, New York” – Frank Sinatra)

high heels

two men talking

rhythmic sound of high heels

screaming child

children’s laughter

car

car honk

two women talking

small girl talking, man answering

something heavy hits the ground

car honk mixed with children’s voices

car passing by at high speed

sound of distant helicopter

cars

trucks

cars

truck

bus

voice “no, half half”

car honk

car

man’s voice

helicopter

voice “where did she go?”

voice “Hey!”

truck slowing down

signal of a truck in reverse, loud beeping sound

voice “ Right can you see me?”

sound of birds

sound of a piece of paper scratching the pavement as it tumbles in the wind

people exiting a door

silence

an ambulance in the distance

crackling paper bag

slamming door

car starting

footsteps

wheels of a shopping cart

a shout

bell

blowing bag

voice “Robert, come and take a pee”

ambulance

running footsteps

12 FEBRUARY 2014

“A big accident has happened in Greenwich Village,” the taxi driver tells me. “We can’t take 7th avenue…A big accident, a scaffold came down, the bus driver got killed.”

I hear a group of women talk about the same accident in a shop.

I live across the road from where it happened and I didn’t hear anything… We just had our windows replaced. They must be really good these new windows.”  They giggle.

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I’m taking a few pictures of a cardboard ‘homeless bed’ that I saw the other day. It is now shed in a beautiful morning light.

Behind me I hear a loud growl and I look into the wild blue eyes of a man grasping things out of the garbage bin. I wonder if this could be his bed?

He comes up to me and puts his face very close to mine. A ‘cafe au lait’ substance is dripping from his beard and he says: “You wanna take pictures? You should go to 7th avenue. The guy stole a truck and then he KILLED a bus driver!” 

I look at him and thank him for telling me this.

I tell him how sorry I feel for the bus driver.

He walks off.

His once blue shimmering coat has ‘Runner’ printed on the back.

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A man with a Starbucks coffee in his hand walks by crosses a woman with a black duffel coat.

New York is a stage with endless smaller and bigger story lines.