Posts from the ‘NYC Street Photography’ Category
the fucking thing bit me the last time i tried to ride it.
oh my fuck ing god. that jenny is one god damn whore putting her tongue all over greg like that. my mom was always right about her. she never had any class. that whole family had no class, thinking they’re better than us because the siblings went to summer day camp at camp laurel. but i know that the only way that family came into any money was from that old shriveled up guy her mom was giving it to every weekend on the second floor of abc home on broadway. i should go pour some of this coffee on her face. i’m not some kind of mean bitch, but she started telling everyone, i mean everyone, that i picked up the clap from that puerto rican kid that started at stuy last month.
before the rza, there was me.
He was a hardworking middle manager.
She was airbrushed to look like an italian supermodel.
He knew he would have one chance to impress her.
i didn’t get to where i am by simply letting things happen. i make things happen. you best believe that i’ll be on your ass if you try to conceal a gravity knife from me or do anything that would be in violation of the new york state penal law. i have the whole damn thing memorized. you see that big ass truck? i keep my family in there. they’ve been in there the last three weeks. if you think i’m hard on them, imagine how hard i’m going to be on you when i put my knee in the middle of your back.
pride lands, brooklyn.
sometimes when i’m working, i think i’m that piano riff in a sentimental mood by coltrane. that’ll get me going and then of course i’ll have to follow that with killer joe by benny golson, you know that live track on terminal one. i’ll be snapping my fingers like i’m a true to life jet. and then when my turn comes for the piano solo, i’ll do my thing with just one hand. i’ll let the other hand do whatever the hell it wants.
New York, NY — Within the last few months, scientists and wildlife experts have identified a new strain of hipster prowling the streets of New York City. While they maintain many of the same political views as the modern hipster, the post-modernist hipster has fewer androgynous characteristics. After several undercover operations, scientists and experts have learned they do not have Bravo-watching parties at their Williamsburg lofts and are morally opposed to turtle necks and capri pants and thongs and black plastic glasses and shared bubble baths. Instead, the post-modernist hipster frequents bodegas and other cheap hang out places where they eat unhealthy and high-fructose laden chips and donuts and drink 22s of Budweiser, in order to achieve the coveted “pouch.” Scientists have labeled this behavior as “female symbiosis lather,” which in layman’s terms, is an attempt to acquire a “creation of male identity encapsulated within the large intestine.” This is directly correlated to the behavior of the Wagabe Crocodile found in Budva, Montenegro.
at the time, i was working for a small graphic design company on twenty-third street. i wasn’t making a lot of money but at least i was getting experience. i started out in traffic and then after about a year or so i was on the branding team. not bad for a kid out of cleveland going to public schools. then things changed when i met mother. she was maybe about fifty-five, and looked like a cross between the lady from murder she wrote and meryl streep, but her skin wasn’t as smooth. i was at a grey’s papaya munching on a hotdog and she asked me for a fifty cents for the subway. i gave her fifty cents and then went i went to my apartment that i shared with my old college buddy lester, she was there in the hallway, along with three guys in suits. i thought it was going to be a shakedown but then she said it. she kept saying sergeant hectorish lee over and over and over again. by maybe the twentieth time she said it, and at that point i was tied to a chair, things started to make sense, a lot of sense.
when i got out the bus, we were somewhere in lower manhattan. i could tell because all the streets had names and shit and it was narrow and there were bricks everywhere and the girls were all walking alone in their thousand dollar pea coats instead of numbers and avenues and straight lines and suits and fat midwestern tourists in nylon jumps and white sneakers. i thought we were supposed to be going to a pumpkin patch but then it hit me that halloween was already past. when i asked the bus driver what we were doing here he looked at me all strange in that “you’re the boss so why you asking me asshole” kind of look. i didn’t say anything because i didn’t really feel like arguing and i hadn’t eaten my breakfast yet. i usually have oatmeal, you know bob’s high fiber natural oatmeal. i add some flax seeds in there and agave syrup because it’s sweet but doesn’t have the same sugar crash as sugar or honey or even maple syrup.
e v e r y d a y aperture 