the duct of living, there it is, flashing lights of tokyo, beaming commerical cookies,
or the bright new york city subway, at its peak when the town floods widely with numerous culture,
where feet are credited for feats of the day!
like ants the city crawlers scrunch around one another to get to their crumbs,
In Los Angeles, arraying blisters of culture are frolicking,
brown, white, black, orange, yellow, red–and much many more
when colors mix thats when distingusing indignation gets difficult!
White and Black bring Carmel, Yellow and White bring A beige-ish cream,
but brown, white, black, orange, yellow, red, and green, colorate an undesribale and undescribable color!
Metropolitian, is the place to reside for artists of all kinds!
The metro was busy that day. Harris leaned against the grimy wall and stared into the gloom at the cigarette butts and coal dust. Everyone was bustling by, not looking at anyone else. He sighed, his breath condensed in the cold underground air. He turned and stared down the dark tube. Any minute now. Time’s up. The train car opened, and out walked that girl. He’d seen her countless times. She was wearing yellow. The only bright color in all of New York, like a dandelion growing in a sidewalk. He took a deep breath. Now or never.
He strode over and swept the flowers out from behind his back, “Hi. My name’s Harris.”
I was already late, and to make matters worse, it was raining mercilessly. Three blocks to go, two, one, half a block. I could see the metro bus spitting smoke out and preparing to leave me behind. I had to make it to that interview. As the doors began closing, he clumsily tumbled down the bus’ steps. I forgot about everything for a moment: the months of preparation, my stress, my interview. All I could think about was this gorgeous man who practically fell out of the sky. I ran to him and helped him up. “Are you okay?” “I saw you running to the bus, and I couldn’t leave you behind.” “YOU couldn’t leave me behind?” “Well yeah, what if this was my only chance to meet you?” I smiled, “I’m Mia.” “Edward.” And that was the start of it all..
“Shit,” is all he can think. Shit shit shit shit shit. Because he’s going to be late, AGAIN, and this time being late isn’t acceptable. “Coming through,” he yells, shoving through crowds, ducking beneath displays, posters peeling off of the walls. He’d be conspicuous if he were anywhere but in New York, where men flying down subway platforms in tuxedoes are apparently commonplace and unremarkable.
the metro is aplce where activity is always bustling and people watching is at it’s finest. it’s a place where i seldom visit as a local, but rather, a place that i go when i am travelling. the metro gets me to new places and along the way brings along with it new sights, new languages, new signage, new design, new people, new routes, and new walking paths.
Ah, the metro. A mode of transport used to move passengers from one place to another. Also known as a subway system. I don’t know where I’m fucking going with with. Why the hell did I have to get this word. I’ve never been on a metro. Why? Why me? Of all the words I could have gotten, this has to be it. I could have written a wonder little tale of a butterfly, but, no, this is what I received. The god damn metro.
Running down the escalator, my hurried feet on the stairs dance to the beat of this little universe that never stands still, its light and intermittent darkness, and the sudden gift of a familiar face so close, for a moment, and then fading, flowing up, back to the surface.
The nick name I gave to my friend, as it described him well. Sexually I mean. His clothes fitted tightly while hair was styled perfectly. Metro was a suitable nickname for him indeed.
The metro has a wonderful hustle and bustle ambiance with numerous voices and sounds striking the bright dazzling walls. Its smell, soft but pungent, with its slight hinds of oil and petroleum.
The Bangalore metro, I hope, will be completed soon. I don’t want to die before commuting easily and effortlessly. But even with the horrendous traffic density, it’s hands-down the best city one can ever live in. I dare you to contest that.
she caught the metro uptown but couldnt quite figure out where to get off. she knew relative direction–up–but that’s the to the extent it went. she hoped she’d be able to feel it. an innate impulse that your future lies….here—then, and not a moment sooner, she would exit the train. she waiting to feel.
I live in Metro Dade County. Metro is a shortened form of metropolitan. I like neapolitan ice cream. I’m a metrosexual. Welcome to the world of the King of Queens. This is my world. My metro is your metro. Let’s have a picnic. Please don’t talk with your mouth full.
the duct of living, there it is, flashing lights of tokyo, beaming commerical cookies,
or the bright new york city subway, at its peak when the town floods widely with numerous culture,
where feet are credited for feats of the day!
like ants the city crawlers scrunch around one another to get to their crumbs,
In Los Angeles, arraying blisters of culture are frolicking,
brown, white, black, orange, yellow, red–and much many more
when colors mix thats when distingusing indignation gets difficult!
White and Black bring Carmel, Yellow and White bring A beige-ish cream,
but brown, white, black, orange, yellow, red, and green, colorate an undesribale and undescribable color!
Metropolitian, is the place to reside for artists of all kinds!
Today I took the metro on my way home, it was almost empty but so full of something I would call magic.
The metro was busy that day. Harris leaned against the grimy wall and stared into the gloom at the cigarette butts and coal dust. Everyone was bustling by, not looking at anyone else. He sighed, his breath condensed in the cold underground air. He turned and stared down the dark tube. Any minute now. Time’s up. The train car opened, and out walked that girl. He’d seen her countless times. She was wearing yellow. The only bright color in all of New York, like a dandelion growing in a sidewalk. He took a deep breath. Now or never.
He strode over and swept the flowers out from behind his back, “Hi. My name’s Harris.”
‘The Metro News’ gives me a great start to the day. Free circular paper, in many cities.
duplicate entry
She hopped on the metro to take her through the city. It was quicker than walking, but was it quick enough?
I was already late, and to make matters worse, it was raining mercilessly. Three blocks to go, two, one, half a block. I could see the metro bus spitting smoke out and preparing to leave me behind. I had to make it to that interview. As the doors began closing, he clumsily tumbled down the bus’ steps. I forgot about everything for a moment: the months of preparation, my stress, my interview. All I could think about was this gorgeous man who practically fell out of the sky. I ran to him and helped him up. “Are you okay?” “I saw you running to the bus, and I couldn’t leave you behind.” “YOU couldn’t leave me behind?” “Well yeah, what if this was my only chance to meet you?” I smiled, “I’m Mia.” “Edward.” And that was the start of it all..
=
“Shit,” is all he can think. Shit shit shit shit shit. Because he’s going to be late, AGAIN, and this time being late isn’t acceptable. “Coming through,” he yells, shoving through crowds, ducking beneath displays, posters peeling off of the walls. He’d be conspicuous if he were anywhere but in New York, where men flying down subway platforms in tuxedoes are apparently commonplace and unremarkable.
the metro is aplce where activity is always bustling and people watching is at it’s finest. it’s a place where i seldom visit as a local, but rather, a place that i go when i am travelling. the metro gets me to new places and along the way brings along with it new sights, new languages, new signage, new design, new people, new routes, and new walking paths.
Ah, the metro. A mode of transport used to move passengers from one place to another. Also known as a subway system. I don’t know where I’m fucking going with with. Why the hell did I have to get this word. I’ve never been on a metro. Why? Why me? Of all the words I could have gotten, this has to be it. I could have written a wonder little tale of a butterfly, but, no, this is what I received. The god damn metro.
Running down the escalator, my hurried feet on the stairs dance to the beat of this little universe that never stands still, its light and intermittent darkness, and the sudden gift of a familiar face so close, for a moment, and then fading, flowing up, back to the surface.
The nick name I gave to my friend, as it described him well. Sexually I mean. His clothes fitted tightly while hair was styled perfectly. Metro was a suitable nickname for him indeed.
The metro has a wonderful hustle and bustle ambiance with numerous voices and sounds striking the bright dazzling walls. Its smell, soft but pungent, with its slight hinds of oil and petroleum.
The Bangalore metro, I hope, will be completed soon. I don’t want to die before commuting easily and effortlessly. But even with the horrendous traffic density, it’s hands-down the best city one can ever live in. I dare you to contest that.
she caught the metro uptown but couldnt quite figure out where to get off. she knew relative direction–up–but that’s the to the extent it went. she hoped she’d be able to feel it. an innate impulse that your future lies….here—then, and not a moment sooner, she would exit the train. she waiting to feel.
I live in Metro Dade County. Metro is a shortened form of metropolitan. I like neapolitan ice cream. I’m a metrosexual. Welcome to the world of the King of Queens. This is my world. My metro is your metro. Let’s have a picnic. Please don’t talk with your mouth full.
She was on her way to the airport when the lightning struck.
Too late; she was too late.