i went to a telephone booth where my friend was just staring at the booth and wondering what would he do if the things happened in film booth happened to him too.
I wish I still saw phone booths today. now the only booths I see are characters suicide booths on tv. when im lucky i see them transformed into art. technology.
she sat alone in the booth, waiting for him
atfer 3 hours she realized he probably wasn’t coming and a tear slid down her pale cheek.
once she left the resturant in sobs he stepped out of the shadows of the nearest alley
‘it was for the best, he would only hurt her’ he told himself as he walked the other direction
Sitting in a booth, great fun to do, not so easy doing this in English. Diner springs to mind, with those waitresses asking if you want coffee with your burgers……That makes me think about fries and milkshakes
booth is a strange word and the way it coils around your mouth is sort of the way the seat curls around you and encloses the seating of the group your with or if it’s just two of you it seems to engulf of all the space surrounding you. It’s sort of like a hug but further away.
One nickel, please. The gentleman in the blue striped tie insisted.
“But… All I have is a dime!”
“That simply won’t do, sir. One nickel please.”
The young boy in overalls stood panting at the booth.
“But all I have is a dime!”
The gentleman leaned on his arm emotionless.
The booth is too small to fit any normal size person. It was really quite useless and nobody understood why someon would bother putting something so small in the middle of the desert. It served no purpose and the person who put it there was obviously very insane, but it was a comfort.
Sitting in the booth was like an admission of complicity. At the bar I could look around or even leave, here I was trapped into looking forward and hemmed in, discouraged from moving. What was it we were hiding, or is it that we were overtly advertising the opposite?
I can imagine myself, standing in the photo booth behind her- trying to concentrate more on the camera in front of us but failing horridly. Instead my attention keeps being drawn by the soft feminine scent waifing off her neck, the sweet plump of her bottom lip and the contagious soft giggle at the cameras flash. I love this woman, now if I only knew if she existed.
I sit in the booth of my soul contemplating bringing fragments into the fold. Trying to draw disperate aspects into the fold and make myself whole. Come come come in from the cold.
The phone booth sat, empty, rundown, and unused. Graffiti plastered its outer walls – scrawls of deluded would-be teenage artists mixed with the occasional splash of talent. A single fluorescent light flickered incessantly within. No-one had used the phone in years. And yet, suddenly, shockingly, the shrill sound of the telephone rang out. And rang. And rang. And rang…
the telephone booth where the girl was standing was red. she clicked open the box and stepped in. quickly she typed away her boyfriend’s phone neumber that she knew from memory and stood tehre wwhile the phone was rining. ring. ring. ring. wherei s he she thought? is he missing me just as much as im missing him? she had no idea. she was just waiting. and then she knew. he was cheating on her. all those days, promises, moments of love and lust and beauty and affection were bullshit. he was an asshole, she should have beleived her gut.
In the narrow confines of this small space. I kiss you with waiting lips. I feel your breath in my mouth, hot and wandering. My hands instinctively reach for the back of your neck. I pull you close to me. And just as quickly as it started, it ends. I drop my ticket into the jar and leave the Kissing Booth, and return to stand in the back of the line once more.
Like a phone booth. Super man. Get it. Or like a photo booth. Like forgotten pictures you took as a kid. Like the ripped up strip of them in the trash can. Sad. Like a mystery. Like the faces you only half remember. The people you effected without knowing it and the people that affect you. The people you notice over others. The kid on the bus with a Metallica backpack or the punk couple with a baby. Do people notice me? Do they notice you? Do you notice me.
last night i sat in a booth across from the best friends a girl could ask for. politics weren’t discussed, but we talked about our days. the things that truly matter when you need to discover people at their most honest moments.
A booth is a wonderful place to do naughty things and have adventures that make many feel excited, happy and precious.
They can preserve memories, connect you to others and provide a place to make a change.
She stood there waiting for somebody to come. Her lipstick was thick and red and she had put some rouge on her cheeks as well. For soem reason thoug, all this seemes to be not enough to atrrackt anybody to her booth at the fair. She smiled at the passersby, but nothing seemd to work. Maybe she should have brushed her teeth this morning?
a girl sits and waits for the phone in the telephone booth to ring. She is smoking a sigaretee. The phone rings. hello? hello. the person on the other end hangs up.
Booths make me think of toll booth, John Wilks Booth, the booths at conventions, etc. Honestly, this word really isn’t that eloquent in my mind, just a word to describe an everyday object. A good word for it seems to be ‘lackluster’. What’s so special about it? What’s so special about a booth? Nothing. It represents all that is boring in my vocabulary.
“Can’t we go to that booth?” I heard the child whine. “No, honey, it’s too expensive, especially for such a silly little game.” “MOM!” The kid tugged on her purse. “I just want one game! Don’t you want me to have good childhood memories?” The mother sighed, taking out her wallet. The kid zoomed off with the money. I chuckled, remembering the last time I came to the fair, 10 years ago.
photo booth death cab for cutie its a good song i like it alot its indie rock i think but im not exactly sure. im not too goo with the whole music genre thing.
Skirting around the booth he was sniffing for scraps. The scent of meat was palpable and it made his mouth water. So much meat, roasted by fire so near… Why wouldn’t he jump up and just take whatever he wanted? Oh yes… They were still there.
“Mr. Booth, we’d like it very much if you came out here.” John grasped his bleeding leg and cursed the skies. “I’d rather come out and fight!” David leaned in close to him. “I can’t do it John. I just can’t.” He ran outside hands in the air. “Ah Mr. Herold how nice of you to join us.” The soldiers in the group fiddled with their rifles, anxious now that they had succeeded. “Conger come in here and I’ll show you what a man does in this situation,” John yelled. He had given up on escape but now only his pride could be saved. “Set the barn on fire Sergeant.” The flames broke out quickly and Booth panicked. He rustled his way towards the door but as he reached the opening he met the barrel of a gun. “What was that all about Corbett?” asked Lt. Colonel Conger. A few soldiers dragged Booth’s dying body out of the barn and toward the farmhouse. Corbett avoided the eyes of his superior officer and merely said “I couldn’t let him live.” “I suppose that’s reason enough.” He walked away toward the farmhouse and Corbett let out a sigh of relief. Completely unsuspected, he had brought the ordeal full circle and all was right.
“Why couldn’t we have had that booth?” he grumbled, “It was already clean.” “Don’t ask me, ask the person that sat you here.” He jumped, turning towards the waitress with a sheepish grin. “I-I wasn’t blaming you!”
photobooth, perfect to fit just two/ snap a shot of the moment/ capture it forever/ i want to find that photobooth with you, and those pictures I keep staring at. I can’t help myself, i’m falling more and more for you. These pictures, a beautiful moment, capture everything. But these photos are nothing, nothing compared to you. dammit 3 weeks I have to wait too. lucky bastards who get you for the summer
We slid into the booth, noting the surprising comfiness. It pays in that respect to go to a new restaurant, I suppose. That was the best part of the place, unfortunately.
We sat at the booth together, for what I was assuming would be the last time. “Gin and tonic, please.” I said to the bartender. “Just water for me, Al. Thanks.” She said, with a look of exasperation on her face. Actually, it was only what I could assume was exasperation when I looked at her, considering she never looked me directly in the face. The bartender walked away to get our drinks.”I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do this to yourself anymore, to us. It’s just to much for me to handle at this point.” Her voice was quivered with a rehearsed speech. “Fine.” “Fine?” She asked me. “Yes, fine. But when I finish, you know you’ll be the one thanking me.”
I got up from the booth and left as the bartender returned with my gin and tonic.
telephone booth. people talking to each other on the phone. looking for words and love. life is passing by so fast but in the telephone booths you can grab the moment.
We went there on a sunny day or- no it was overcast – well it was daytime – or was it evening – there was a girl in a cotton print dress – we both saw her you know we did – yes and an old man with a while dog and a stick cut from thorn – thorn how do yoiu know – well it wasn’t exaclty malacca – whattt;;;?
I was sitting in my booth, looking around at all the gluttons stuffing their faces. It was disgusting and beautiful at the same time. I swore to myself I would never allow any food digest in my perfect petite stomach. I wouldn’t ever allow myself to weigh more than 2 digits, it just wasn’t right.
the booths in waffle house are always slightly sticky, especially in the summer time when legs clad in shorts tend to stiiiicckkk straight to them. the spilled syrup and coke products don’t help either. but I’ve spent so many hours, adds up to so many days, in one – breathing in second hand smoke and learning how to listen, and learning how to love, and learning how to have your heart broken over too many cups of bad coffee.
waffle house
party dresses
road trips
coffee
spoons
the moon
best friends
dreaming
i went to a telephone booth where my friend was just staring at the booth and wondering what would he do if the things happened in film booth happened to him too.
I wish I still saw phone booths today. now the only booths I see are characters suicide booths on tv. when im lucky i see them transformed into art. technology.
booth can imply a lot of things.its were conversations starts and new things emerge.
she sat alone in the booth, waiting for him
atfer 3 hours she realized he probably wasn’t coming and a tear slid down her pale cheek.
once she left the resturant in sobs he stepped out of the shadows of the nearest alley
‘it was for the best, he would only hurt her’ he told himself as he walked the other direction
Sitting in a booth, great fun to do, not so easy doing this in English. Diner springs to mind, with those waitresses asking if you want coffee with your burgers……That makes me think about fries and milkshakes
booth is a strange word and the way it coils around your mouth is sort of the way the seat curls around you and encloses the seating of the group your with or if it’s just two of you it seems to engulf of all the space surrounding you. It’s sort of like a hug but further away.
BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOTH BOOYH
photos and milkshakes. stolen kisses. hungry and comfort met. the frame, the structure, the limitation and yet the freedom within the space is broad
One nickel, please. The gentleman in the blue striped tie insisted.
“But… All I have is a dime!”
“That simply won’t do, sir. One nickel please.”
The young boy in overalls stood panting at the booth.
“But all I have is a dime!”
The gentleman leaned on his arm emotionless.
The booth is too small to fit any normal size person. It was really quite useless and nobody understood why someon would bother putting something so small in the middle of the desert. It served no purpose and the person who put it there was obviously very insane, but it was a comfort.
Sitting in the booth was like an admission of complicity. At the bar I could look around or even leave, here I was trapped into looking forward and hemmed in, discouraged from moving. What was it we were hiding, or is it that we were overtly advertising the opposite?
I can imagine myself, standing in the photo booth behind her- trying to concentrate more on the camera in front of us but failing horridly. Instead my attention keeps being drawn by the soft feminine scent waifing off her neck, the sweet plump of her bottom lip and the contagious soft giggle at the cameras flash. I love this woman, now if I only knew if she existed.
I sit in the booth of my soul contemplating bringing fragments into the fold. Trying to draw disperate aspects into the fold and make myself whole. Come come come in from the cold.
Atop the booth, a terrible secret was brewing. The last of the miniconians, a once peaceful race of .5 inch tall people, planned the end of the world.
The phone booth sat, empty, rundown, and unused. Graffiti plastered its outer walls – scrawls of deluded would-be teenage artists mixed with the occasional splash of talent. A single fluorescent light flickered incessantly within. No-one had used the phone in years. And yet, suddenly, shockingly, the shrill sound of the telephone rang out. And rang. And rang. And rang…
The lazy woman’s way of saying “broken tooth”. Apologies, too tired to focus.
the telephone booth where the girl was standing was red. she clicked open the box and stepped in. quickly she typed away her boyfriend’s phone neumber that she knew from memory and stood tehre wwhile the phone was rining. ring. ring. ring. wherei s he she thought? is he missing me just as much as im missing him? she had no idea. she was just waiting. and then she knew. he was cheating on her. all those days, promises, moments of love and lust and beauty and affection were bullshit. he was an asshole, she should have beleived her gut.
In the narrow confines of this small space. I kiss you with waiting lips. I feel your breath in my mouth, hot and wandering. My hands instinctively reach for the back of your neck. I pull you close to me. And just as quickly as it started, it ends. I drop my ticket into the jar and leave the Kissing Booth, and return to stand in the back of the line once more.
Like a phone booth. Super man. Get it. Or like a photo booth. Like forgotten pictures you took as a kid. Like the ripped up strip of them in the trash can. Sad. Like a mystery. Like the faces you only half remember. The people you effected without knowing it and the people that affect you. The people you notice over others. The kid on the bus with a Metallica backpack or the punk couple with a baby. Do people notice me? Do they notice you? Do you notice me.
He was hiding in the booth when they found him.
Sometimes things just go wrong. They don’t get much more wrong than this.
He was hiding in the booth, but he didn’t hide well enough.
They peeled back the lid of the booth just the way they were going to peel back his skin to get to his heart.
He would have run if he could move, but he was hiding in the booth until it was far too late.
Until the whimpers were quiet.
Until his soul was gone.
last night i sat in a booth across from the best friends a girl could ask for. politics weren’t discussed, but we talked about our days. the things that truly matter when you need to discover people at their most honest moments.
A booth is a wonderful place to do naughty things and have adventures that make many feel excited, happy and precious.
They can preserve memories, connect you to others and provide a place to make a change.
was turned away from passport booth.
She stood there waiting for somebody to come. Her lipstick was thick and red and she had put some rouge on her cheeks as well. For soem reason thoug, all this seemes to be not enough to atrrackt anybody to her booth at the fair. She smiled at the passersby, but nothing seemd to work. Maybe she should have brushed her teeth this morning?
a girl sits and waits for the phone in the telephone booth to ring. She is smoking a sigaretee. The phone rings. hello? hello. the person on the other end hangs up.
Booths make me think of toll booth, John Wilks Booth, the booths at conventions, etc. Honestly, this word really isn’t that eloquent in my mind, just a word to describe an everyday object. A good word for it seems to be ‘lackluster’. What’s so special about it? What’s so special about a booth? Nothing. It represents all that is boring in my vocabulary.
“Can’t we go to that booth?” I heard the child whine. “No, honey, it’s too expensive, especially for such a silly little game.” “MOM!” The kid tugged on her purse. “I just want one game! Don’t you want me to have good childhood memories?” The mother sighed, taking out her wallet. The kid zoomed off with the money. I chuckled, remembering the last time I came to the fair, 10 years ago.
Die kleine Bude am Strand
steht nun verlassen da.
Niemand der sie putzt
Niemand der sie pflegt
Niemand der sie lebendig macht
Wie leblos steht sie am Strand
einsam und alleine
zerfällt sie langsam
photo booth death cab for cutie its a good song i like it alot its indie rock i think but im not exactly sure. im not too goo with the whole music genre thing.
Skirting around the booth he was sniffing for scraps. The scent of meat was palpable and it made his mouth water. So much meat, roasted by fire so near… Why wouldn’t he jump up and just take whatever he wanted? Oh yes… They were still there.
“Mr. Booth, we’d like it very much if you came out here.” John grasped his bleeding leg and cursed the skies. “I’d rather come out and fight!” David leaned in close to him. “I can’t do it John. I just can’t.” He ran outside hands in the air. “Ah Mr. Herold how nice of you to join us.” The soldiers in the group fiddled with their rifles, anxious now that they had succeeded. “Conger come in here and I’ll show you what a man does in this situation,” John yelled. He had given up on escape but now only his pride could be saved. “Set the barn on fire Sergeant.” The flames broke out quickly and Booth panicked. He rustled his way towards the door but as he reached the opening he met the barrel of a gun. “What was that all about Corbett?” asked Lt. Colonel Conger. A few soldiers dragged Booth’s dying body out of the barn and toward the farmhouse. Corbett avoided the eyes of his superior officer and merely said “I couldn’t let him live.” “I suppose that’s reason enough.” He walked away toward the farmhouse and Corbett let out a sigh of relief. Completely unsuspected, he had brought the ordeal full circle and all was right.
“Why couldn’t we have had that booth?” he grumbled, “It was already clean.” “Don’t ask me, ask the person that sat you here.” He jumped, turning towards the waitress with a sheepish grin. “I-I wasn’t blaming you!”
photobooth, perfect to fit just two/ snap a shot of the moment/ capture it forever/ i want to find that photobooth with you, and those pictures I keep staring at. I can’t help myself, i’m falling more and more for you. These pictures, a beautiful moment, capture everything. But these photos are nothing, nothing compared to you. dammit 3 weeks I have to wait too. lucky bastards who get you for the summer
We slid into the booth, noting the surprising comfiness. It pays in that respect to go to a new restaurant, I suppose. That was the best part of the place, unfortunately.
We sat at the booth together, for what I was assuming would be the last time. “Gin and tonic, please.” I said to the bartender. “Just water for me, Al. Thanks.” She said, with a look of exasperation on her face. Actually, it was only what I could assume was exasperation when I looked at her, considering she never looked me directly in the face. The bartender walked away to get our drinks.”I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do this to yourself anymore, to us. It’s just to much for me to handle at this point.” Her voice was quivered with a rehearsed speech. “Fine.” “Fine?” She asked me. “Yes, fine. But when I finish, you know you’ll be the one thanking me.”
I got up from the booth and left as the bartender returned with my gin and tonic.
telephone booth. people talking to each other on the phone. looking for words and love. life is passing by so fast but in the telephone booths you can grab the moment.
We went there on a sunny day or- no it was overcast – well it was daytime – or was it evening – there was a girl in a cotton print dress – we both saw her you know we did – yes and an old man with a while dog and a stick cut from thorn – thorn how do yoiu know – well it wasn’t exaclty malacca – whattt;;;?
I was sitting in my booth, looking around at all the gluttons stuffing their faces. It was disgusting and beautiful at the same time. I swore to myself I would never allow any food digest in my perfect petite stomach. I wouldn’t ever allow myself to weigh more than 2 digits, it just wasn’t right.
the booths in waffle house are always slightly sticky, especially in the summer time when legs clad in shorts tend to stiiiicckkk straight to them. the spilled syrup and coke products don’t help either. but I’ve spent so many hours, adds up to so many days, in one – breathing in second hand smoke and learning how to listen, and learning how to love, and learning how to have your heart broken over too many cups of bad coffee.