ROBB TODD
Someone actually let me have a book. My first collection of fiction is on sale. You can even enjoy a Kindle edition.
Search
© 2012 Robb Todd
TWITTER FEED
Loading Tweet...
I ALSO HANG OUT HERE
OTHER PEOPLE'S STUFF
-
-
Another Drums Along The Hudson Pic. #inwoodpark #inwood #inwoodhillpark #washingtonheights #washheights #newyork #city #newyorkcity #nyc #Uptown...
-
“No one is ever really alone. You are part of everything alive.”— William S. Burroughs, Queer
-
Skull Crystal LED Door Knob
-
-
-
-
“Malia and Sasha and a bunch of my friends and Michelle had sort of like a roast, a little private roast, each one of them read something and Malia...”
-
“I’ve no light in me
but that I reflect of you.
You are stars to me.” -
1316
Look, single dudes, the world will never be in short supply of
ticking-clock women who want kids, so just stay in a little bit of...
Tag Results
18 posts tagged A train
From what cause I, of course, cannot say.
Of course, from what cause I cannot say.
Of course, I cannot say from what cause.
From what cause, of course, I cannot say.
I cannot say from what cause, of course.
From what cause I cannot, of course, say.
From what cause I cannot say, of course.
I cannot say, of course, from what cause.
LEATHER AND SHOELACE
An old woman and a pregnant woman stood in front of me and I offered the pregnant woman my seat and she said no thanks so I kept sitting.
At the next stop a guy got on and stared at me like, “Why aren’t you giving that pregnant lady your seat?” I got off at the next stop and so did the pregnant lady and the guy nudged the old woman out of the way to grab my place.
The subway steps led to some famous courts and the games were fierce. Basketballs bounced and handballs popped. A man on the sidelines had a lot to say about the evolution of the shoelace.
Outside of a Belgian beer bar, a man with a tattered straw hat sat at a table with his legs crossed. He held a leash that was wrapped around the legs of his chair and he sipped a frothy beer from a tulip glass. He called his dog Robot. “Sit, Robot. Sit.”
Clouds blanketed the sky and cooled things off and everything turned blue.
0 Plays
I HAVE A BOOK COMING OUT
I do not like to run for trains but it was right there, I could see it, so I scampered. I swiped my card and the turnstile told me to “please swipe again,” and if turnstiles could laugh they would laugh like MWAHAHAHA. I watched the train doors close and I saw the empty seat where I could have been sitting speed past. A woman with a guitar was singing, really going for it on the high notes. She was trying to own the echoes on the platform. Another train came a few minutes later.
Look for my book early next year from Tiny Hardcore Press. It’s a collection of things that might be stories or maybe they are something else, but there are definitely words involved. Please tell me what to call this thing. Leave suggestions in the comments. The worse the title, the better. Ridiculous blurbs are also welcome.
THIS DAY IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOU THINK
A young woman with the bridge of her nose pierced and fake diamond studs in her dimples pushed a stroller onto the train and the conductor said,
“Thirty-fourth Street. Have an ideal morning. This is a downtown A express.” She wore jean shorts and fishnet stockings and sneakers. A pink blanket was draped over the baby. An old woman with a billy-goat beard told a balding old man with a hoop earring about some amazing grapes she ate last night. I switched trains at the next stop. “Thank you for riding this downtown A experience.” A couple stops later I got off and pushed through the meat-grinder turnstile and saw a message written in chalk at my feet.
HOW TO SURVIVE STRONG PESTICIDES
See, the neighbors upstairs have a pet kleidsdale, er, chleidsdale, er, (Internet search: chlydesdale) clydesdale. I think their horse wears high heels and wakes up to an alarm about a half hour before mine and it clomps around my ceiling for quite a while and I really do not even need to set my alarm any more, see?
A woman was singing and playing the guitar on my subway platform. She is new. She is a nice addition to the mornings. She strummed and sang like she was sitting at campfire during the sixties. Before she arrived the only sounds were the endless off-beat beeps of the turnstile and people chatting and trains grumbling, indecipherable announcements over a mysterious speaker. Now there is also music and the sound of coins hitting her guitar case. Dollar bills do not make much sound when people toss those. (When I see a five-dollar bill in there I wonder if the person took change back or if the singer planted it.) She only sings three songs. “Haleluyeah,” er, (Internet search: Haleluyeah) “Hallelujah,” “Only Fools Rush In,” and “Empire State of Mind” (let’s hear it for just the chorus). I think she only sings those three songs because if the trains are on time you will not hear the whole loop. The trains are rarely on time.
At lunch I went to the bathroom. My pee was very dark, like an IPA. I have been ill. A cold I cannot beat. I never understood why old men shake so long at urinals. Now I do. And not because I have a cold.
This dude was sleeping the whole train ride home after work and at his stop his eyes snapped open, no conductor’s announcement or anything, and he grabbed his bag and walked off like the ceiling of his skull was being stomped on by a clydesdale.
It is hard not to love subway performers unless they make it easy. Terrible boom box with blown speakers, loud clapping when people (me) were tired after long days with boring tasks. People (me) were trying to read. But we (I) had to stop everything so they could do a couple back flips and irritate the crap out of us (me). Seen this same act too many times. Save it for the evenings, men. “Show you’re love, show your support. We’re not robbing or killing.” Oh, right. Those are the only other options. Never mind.
I walked home during a downpour, a few blocks. No umbrella. I hate umbrellas. I bought one the other day for a few bucks at a bodega because I was caught in a drizzle and it was cold and I did not have a hoodie or a hat. The umbrella did not cost that much. Less than a good IPA. I opened the umbrella and a few seconds later a slight breeze destroyed it. It did the reverse-umbrella thing and all the metal parts snapped at the joints and the handle broke and it fell to the ground in pieces, a dying robot spider kite, and I got wet. Then I caught a cold. But that is not why I hate umbrellas.
Street lights look better streaked across ripple-wet sidewalks. If you look close, heavy drops explode on asphalt, moon popcorn craters. Remember the time we rode bikes in the park and a storm chased us? The time we walked across the bridge and there were flowers for someone who jumped? The time we saw a deer run down a busy city street? The other time? There were crumbs of Pringles on my chest, many, as I wrote this even though I had been eating grapes and there is not such a thing as a grape crumb, is there?
Before I wrote this I was reading stories written by people who hope to be accepted to a very fine literary magazine but some of the authors were those subway performers. I would reject this story, too, my story, yet someone trusts me with slush. I should be trusted with rain, also, but not with Pringles.
Thanks for listening with your eyes. And, hey, enough about me. Let’s talk about you and all the wonderful things you think about me.
10 Plays
