Another Project
Second floor apartment, kitchen window. Zoom in. A woman in her 30’s is preparing dinner. A man, seated at the island, says,
“I started a blog today.”
“Hm.”
“Why ‘hm?’”
“Do people still read those?”
The man, who is an artist and is not making dinner, thinks about this for a moment. An ice cube clinks, a cocktail swirling around it.
“I think so. If they’re good,” he says. “I don’t know. I can always promote it on Instagram.”
The trash can’s lid closes loudly. “Right.”
“Anyway,” the man again. “It’s just going to be little observations. Vignettes of city living and stuff. Sketches of characters I see around. Like street photography, but with words.”
“Cool,” the woman says.
A sip.
“Can you set the table?”
Another Project
Second floor apartment, kitchen window. Zoom in. A woman in her 30’s is preparing dinner. A man, seated at the island, says,
“I started a blog today.”
“Hm.”
“Why ‘hm?’”
“Do people still read those?”
The man, who is an artist and is not making dinner, thinks about this for a moment. An ice cube clinks, a cocktail swirling around it.
“I think so. If they’re good,” he says. “I don’t know. I can always promote it on Instagram.”
The trash can’s lid closes loudly. “Right.”
“Anyway,” the man again. “It’s just going to be little observations. Vignettes of city living and stuff. Sketches of characters I see around. Like street photography, but with words.”
“Cool,” the woman says.
A sip.
“Can you set the table?”