ik once was at a telephone booth when something crazy happened. i looked up and saw something falling from the sky. it was a fricking meteor!!!! Holy hell i thought, what is going to happen next? i was in total disbelief!
i think that in a booth the world can be whatever you want it to be, your alone and no on can judge what you say or approve of or want in life. its so private you can feel totally content with what you do.
I was standing in a small booth, maybe 10ft by 2. I couldn’t move sideways, only up and down. “What is this,” I wondered aloud, “and how did I get here?” There was no answer.
I do not like to sit in booths when they are plastic, like in restaurants. I find them repulsive. The squeaky fabric makes me think about everyone who has ever sat there and the nasty things they must have done. I like wooden benches. They are nice, homey. Wooden benches are good for sitting on a clear night and looking up at the stars. Benches are best when they are outdoors.
I really like you booth. You seem really nice. I’d like to be your best friend. I imagine you are blond, but perhaps you are brunette. Do you apples? Or oranges? I think you are a boy, but perhaps I am wrong. I will sing you a song. I’m running out of time now, so I’ll say goodbye. Have fun with your life, enjoy a cherry pie. Love, me.
two men sat in a booth. They sat facing each other in still silence… each waiting for the other to speak. The man on the left side of the bench whipped out a potato gun and shot the other man. Boom. No face… in a shower of flesh and potatoes fragments…
resturant. how do you spell that? i suck at spelling. this thing would be so much longer if i didnt have to rewrite half my words cause i cant spell them right the first time.
there i waited in that same place
tapping my fingers
all i could hear was the thump
thump, thump, thump
your image floating in my brain
the waitress comes to my booth
i order a cup of tea
i sit i wait
in the same place as always
wondering
“Dang it@ I hate booths!” She practically shouted
“Mom just sit down.” I basically hissed. My mother was the one who always had to make a scene. She curtly nodded her head.
“fine. I don’t even know why we came here. I don’t understand why you like this p;ace so much.”
I only pretended to respond as I kept my eyes out, searching for him. He always worked on Thursday night, and no, I do not stalk him. But my friends all come to the little cafe on the corner on Thursday nights to study or just hang out. We would get seated, most likely in his section, and he’d take our order. Then later he’d come back to make small talk until he was called to do things and what not. I sighed just thinking about him. I looked over at my mother who already was observing the table top, clearly ready to complain about the first speck of dust that she saw. Then, I saw him. Out of the corner of my eye, making his way towards us. I said a silent prayer that my mom didn’t screw this up for me, that she didn’t embarrass me or anything.
“Hi, welcome to Cafe de Cafe. Is there anything you would like?” He said, putting on his bright smile, looking at Mom. She nodded and answered.
“Yes, I’ll just have a caramel latte.” He scribbled on his notepad and turned to me. His eyes met mine.
“And a small frappe for you.”
*sigh* he already knew my order.
Shopping in the mall, the changing rooms are always crowded but worth it, so worth it for the satisfaction of finding that one item that you really, truly adore. Waiting in the queues, the pushing, putting up with posh assistants who make you feel as if you shouldn’t be there.
The booth was cracked and candy apple red. Probably the cutest little thing, it brightened up this whole place. This old, rundown place. The salt and pepper shakers said hello, and I winked casually at their formality. It was then I saw him across the diner.
The booth stood there in front of me, towering over me.
Do I go inside? Do I stay out here alone, left out and cold?
Do I remember what it is like to love?
I enter the booth, and there you stand.
I behind the booth, wondering how I ended up there as I waited for the first customer to step up. I was sweating like mad, not only because of the hot sun, but because I had never kissed anyone. I was too embarrassed to tell, so I ended up running the kissing booth.
i grew up on booth lake all my childhood memories lie there and revived each summer as I go out and open up the windows to the new season of swimming family and fun ….if only i could find this sweetness throughout the four seasons i would be one happy person….i attain for that peacefulness and someday i’ll get it
I spent my teenage years sitting in a booth at a diner talking to my friends who all wore fishnets or vinyl. Then, in college, same diner, working hard, ignoring anyone who didn’t have a book in front of them. Now, I still go and still bring a book but I talk to the old men at the counter, I ask about their lives and listen to their stories.
One thing I have noticed is that there are no longer any phone booths in Manhattan. Remember The Goodbye Girl in the rain? That was a phone booth and of course there is Superman. Did he change in a phone booth? I cant remember. It was a private little 3×3 space on the streets of of Manhattan.
I think of a pho booth initially and how much I love taking pictures in them. I miss Hannah Schill and taking tons of pictures with her. Well really just at Haley’s birthday, but I still have them hanging up. Then there’s the Booth Theatre where Next to Normal played. I can’t wait to see it. So looking forward to just having a blast when I go
I walked into the phone booth, it was damp out and I needed a cab. I was soaked through and feeling like crap. It had been a long night and I just wanted to get home and shower it all off. Seeing him still makes my heart drop, my breath go shallow and my heart beat out of my chest. I’d run from him tonight, as soon as he stepped offstage after singing the song he wrote for me, I had run. Through the rain and the night towards this booth, this little encasement of glass that was the key to me just putting it behind me. Then, there was a bang on the glass, a face in the dark. Him. He stepped into the tiny phone booth with me and took my hand. “Break me, one more time” he said the words he has written for me, even though he had broken me; I wanted to let him back in. So there, in the tiny phone booth on that wet, cold night, we broke each other- one last time.
I sit in my booth and the diner I’d go to every Sunday. Except this Sunday was different.
I didn’t have my brother sitting next to me, or my mother across.
All that was there was a stain from a coffee cup and empty space, a loneliness, nothing at all.
At that diner, that’s where my mom always wants to sit. One by the window. With a nice view. I sit. The menu is sleek and the glare from the sun spilling in through the windows makes it hard to read the courses. I turn my head to see outside. It’s beautiful. I love people. And bushes.
I got nothin’. Boof. That’s how some people ask for a booth at restaurants. I feel creatively and emotionally drained. I’ve been seeing a show at The West End in London every night for the past week and they’re just building one on top the other. It’s in the way of sleep, it’s in the way of stress relief, and having very little time to myself is in the way of decompressing all of these things. Did some ab work earlier and some stretching. The stretching helped the most. I think I’m going to start doing that every day. Cheers.
blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah cleaning booths at applebees sucks and takes several hours. they can get really dirty really easily but aren’t so easy to clean. Its very stressful
I walked into the booth with my friend Joey. Joey was high. I don’t know why Joey was high. But Joey said bye, but that was a lie. He stole my pie, and then I die.
Holy moley…. the circus is in town and there’s a kissing booth over by the Freak Show tent. She looks longingly at every passer by. Will she at me? Oh man, she caught my eye… $1 buys me lips but no tongue: oh, what the heck!? I need to feel that reptilian connection.
I thrown down five bucks and pucker up. My eyes are closed but I smell her bordello scent as she leans in… her lips are soft, oh man, I’m in trouble. But wait, her cheek is rough… she is not a she.
Around the corner she came flying with her hair swinging wildly about her face. The lazy call of the sirens echoed from building to building creating an eerie reverb effect that somehow made the city complete, along with the whirs and honks of the cars whizzing by without end. There was little precious time as she made her way through the throngs of people towards her inevitable destination. It gleamed in the noon sun and she burst through the door hastily. These old phones were almost never used anymore, except by her, when she needed a little bit of privacy to change into her alter-ego…
i don’t take kindly to much more questioning than that.
yes. fine. wilkes booth. that’s the end of it.
but so what? if you’re looking for a fight, pick on that general that comes in here to drink so often. yes they’ve seen me and haven’t nabbed me yet. of course. it’s not just the law i need to worry about now.
I was in the election booth when I was struck by a sudden indecision, my hand wavering over the ballot paper. So many boxes, so many options, and suddenly all the careful research I’d done seemed irrelevent, now that it was all narrowed down to a single cross and a crease. I knew my views, I knew what I wanted, but I was seized with apathy, beccause what did it matter? I was just a man in a little wooden booth in a community centre, standing over a tiny slip of paper with a pencil that didn’t even belong to me, choosing between half a dozen people I’d never even met. It was so silly I had to laugh. The woman in the next booth gave me an odd look, as if to say that I wasn’t taking it seriously enough. I smiled back cheerfully.
Here we are again! things are still the same since the last time we met…..Not much writing, just thinking. Some days are better than others but all is good:)
i always try to forget about the rest.
my legacy.
just call me john.
yeah, but seriously. im named after my grandfather.
so
yeah
technically i’m a john WILKES BOOTH
except it’s not wilkes. now. it’s hitler.
my father married a hitler, and i don’t know which is worse.
Dinner for two at Oliver Garden for the night. It was a warm summer night and the fire flies lit the way into the crowded restraunt. Waiting for only a few minutes our waitress took us back to our red booth. The seats were velvet with a few grease stains from careless eatters. A light hung low giving everything a soft, romantic glow. Icluding his features that were covered with love.
The inside of the telephone booth was grimy, the glass streaked with fingerprints and dirt. Reilly held the phone between the tips of his fingers, wondering what other grunge could be on it. He listened to the familiar ‘beep, beep, beep’ on the other end and sighed.
a place to kiss, make phone calls
tacky sales men clustered in a convention center
all selling similar versions of the same product
juicers, solar panels
trade shows
games at the circus
As the night begins, the waitress drew us over to our booth in a dark, romantic crner of the reastraunt. secluded, tantelizing. the seats had a deep maroon color that had a few grease stains here and there and the light hung low over the sticky table.
photo booth…i go in them with friends all the time…at the works at the party..now we are all different and apart…what’s up with that?? some people think object tear people apart…does this one? or is it coincidence?
I have a photobooth at the bar that I manage, people love it. Really, i should be at work right now and pasting up the images I blew up of people in the photobooth. Before that I need to make some wheat paste… I should really do this considering that it is my “project” day at work. Is it ironic that the first word that came up was booth? Not really, I am not surprised at all. So here we go.
I hate when restaurants seat you at a table. they are so much less comfortable than booths. I have always wondered if people actually do kissing booths. theres john wilkes booth, i think he killed lincoln. i rhymes with smooth.
ik once was at a telephone booth when something crazy happened. i looked up and saw something falling from the sky. it was a fricking meteor!!!! Holy hell i thought, what is going to happen next? i was in total disbelief!
i think that in a booth the world can be whatever you want it to be, your alone and no on can judge what you say or approve of or want in life. its so private you can feel totally content with what you do.
I was standing in a small booth, maybe 10ft by 2. I couldn’t move sideways, only up and down. “What is this,” I wondered aloud, “and how did I get here?” There was no answer.
I do not like to sit in booths when they are plastic, like in restaurants. I find them repulsive. The squeaky fabric makes me think about everyone who has ever sat there and the nasty things they must have done. I like wooden benches. They are nice, homey. Wooden benches are good for sitting on a clear night and looking up at the stars. Benches are best when they are outdoors.
phone booth magma oozing over my mouth
goodnight fluorescent light,
no idea what you’re talking about.
it’s ringing and a wave of guilt comes over me
goodnight.
I really like you booth. You seem really nice. I’d like to be your best friend. I imagine you are blond, but perhaps you are brunette. Do you apples? Or oranges? I think you are a boy, but perhaps I am wrong. I will sing you a song. I’m running out of time now, so I’ll say goodbye. Have fun with your life, enjoy a cherry pie. Love, me.
two men sat in a booth. They sat facing each other in still silence… each waiting for the other to speak. The man on the left side of the bench whipped out a potato gun and shot the other man. Boom. No face… in a shower of flesh and potatoes fragments…
resturant. how do you spell that? i suck at spelling. this thing would be so much longer if i didnt have to rewrite half my words cause i cant spell them right the first time.
there i waited in that same place
tapping my fingers
all i could hear was the thump
thump, thump, thump
your image floating in my brain
the waitress comes to my booth
i order a cup of tea
i sit i wait
in the same place as always
wondering
“Dang it@ I hate booths!” She practically shouted
“Mom just sit down.” I basically hissed. My mother was the one who always had to make a scene. She curtly nodded her head.
“fine. I don’t even know why we came here. I don’t understand why you like this p;ace so much.”
I only pretended to respond as I kept my eyes out, searching for him. He always worked on Thursday night, and no, I do not stalk him. But my friends all come to the little cafe on the corner on Thursday nights to study or just hang out. We would get seated, most likely in his section, and he’d take our order. Then later he’d come back to make small talk until he was called to do things and what not. I sighed just thinking about him. I looked over at my mother who already was observing the table top, clearly ready to complain about the first speck of dust that she saw. Then, I saw him. Out of the corner of my eye, making his way towards us. I said a silent prayer that my mom didn’t screw this up for me, that she didn’t embarrass me or anything.
“Hi, welcome to Cafe de Cafe. Is there anything you would like?” He said, putting on his bright smile, looking at Mom. She nodded and answered.
“Yes, I’ll just have a caramel latte.” He scribbled on his notepad and turned to me. His eyes met mine.
“And a small frappe for you.”
*sigh* he already knew my order.
Shopping in the mall, the changing rooms are always crowded but worth it, so worth it for the satisfaction of finding that one item that you really, truly adore. Waiting in the queues, the pushing, putting up with posh assistants who make you feel as if you shouldn’t be there.
The booth was cracked and candy apple red. Probably the cutest little thing, it brightened up this whole place. This old, rundown place. The salt and pepper shakers said hello, and I winked casually at their formality. It was then I saw him across the diner.
The booth stood there in front of me, towering over me.
Do I go inside? Do I stay out here alone, left out and cold?
Do I remember what it is like to love?
I enter the booth, and there you stand.
I behind the booth, wondering how I ended up there as I waited for the first customer to step up. I was sweating like mad, not only because of the hot sun, but because I had never kissed anyone. I was too embarrassed to tell, so I ended up running the kissing booth.
I prefer booths to tables in restaurants because it’s like you’re eating in your own little cubby of deliciousness and intimate conversation.
Wasn’t a “Booth” some guy who invented something sometime?
Booth rhymes with “tooth.”
I hate losing teeth.
i grew up on booth lake all my childhood memories lie there and revived each summer as I go out and open up the windows to the new season of swimming family and fun ….if only i could find this sweetness throughout the four seasons i would be one happy person….i attain for that peacefulness and someday i’ll get it
I spent my teenage years sitting in a booth at a diner talking to my friends who all wore fishnets or vinyl. Then, in college, same diner, working hard, ignoring anyone who didn’t have a book in front of them. Now, I still go and still bring a book but I talk to the old men at the counter, I ask about their lives and listen to their stories.
One thing I have noticed is that there are no longer any phone booths in Manhattan. Remember The Goodbye Girl in the rain? That was a phone booth and of course there is Superman. Did he change in a phone booth? I cant remember. It was a private little 3×3 space on the streets of of Manhattan.
I think of a pho booth initially and how much I love taking pictures in them. I miss Hannah Schill and taking tons of pictures with her. Well really just at Haley’s birthday, but I still have them hanging up. Then there’s the Booth Theatre where Next to Normal played. I can’t wait to see it. So looking forward to just having a blast when I go
I walked into the phone booth, it was damp out and I needed a cab. I was soaked through and feeling like crap. It had been a long night and I just wanted to get home and shower it all off. Seeing him still makes my heart drop, my breath go shallow and my heart beat out of my chest. I’d run from him tonight, as soon as he stepped offstage after singing the song he wrote for me, I had run. Through the rain and the night towards this booth, this little encasement of glass that was the key to me just putting it behind me. Then, there was a bang on the glass, a face in the dark. Him. He stepped into the tiny phone booth with me and took my hand. “Break me, one more time” he said the words he has written for me, even though he had broken me; I wanted to let him back in. So there, in the tiny phone booth on that wet, cold night, we broke each other- one last time.
I sit in my booth and the diner I’d go to every Sunday. Except this Sunday was different.
I didn’t have my brother sitting next to me, or my mother across.
All that was there was a stain from a coffee cup and empty space, a loneliness, nothing at all.
At that diner, that’s where my mom always wants to sit. One by the window. With a nice view. I sit. The menu is sleek and the glare from the sun spilling in through the windows makes it hard to read the courses. I turn my head to see outside. It’s beautiful. I love people. And bushes.
I got nothin’. Boof. That’s how some people ask for a booth at restaurants. I feel creatively and emotionally drained. I’ve been seeing a show at The West End in London every night for the past week and they’re just building one on top the other. It’s in the way of sleep, it’s in the way of stress relief, and having very little time to myself is in the way of decompressing all of these things. Did some ab work earlier and some stretching. The stretching helped the most. I think I’m going to start doing that every day. Cheers.
blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah cleaning booths at applebees sucks and takes several hours. they can get really dirty really easily but aren’t so easy to clean. Its very stressful
I walked into the booth with my friend Joey. Joey was high. I don’t know why Joey was high. But Joey said bye, but that was a lie. He stole my pie, and then I die.
Holy moley…. the circus is in town and there’s a kissing booth over by the Freak Show tent. She looks longingly at every passer by. Will she at me? Oh man, she caught my eye… $1 buys me lips but no tongue: oh, what the heck!? I need to feel that reptilian connection.
I thrown down five bucks and pucker up. My eyes are closed but I smell her bordello scent as she leans in… her lips are soft, oh man, I’m in trouble. But wait, her cheek is rough… she is not a she.
Around the corner she came flying with her hair swinging wildly about her face. The lazy call of the sirens echoed from building to building creating an eerie reverb effect that somehow made the city complete, along with the whirs and honks of the cars whizzing by without end. There was little precious time as she made her way through the throngs of people towards her inevitable destination. It gleamed in the noon sun and she burst through the door hastily. These old phones were almost never used anymore, except by her, when she needed a little bit of privacy to change into her alter-ego…
the name’s john.
i don’t take kindly to much more questioning than that.
yes. fine. wilkes booth. that’s the end of it.
but so what? if you’re looking for a fight, pick on that general that comes in here to drink so often. yes they’ve seen me and haven’t nabbed me yet. of course. it’s not just the law i need to worry about now.
I was in the election booth when I was struck by a sudden indecision, my hand wavering over the ballot paper. So many boxes, so many options, and suddenly all the careful research I’d done seemed irrelevent, now that it was all narrowed down to a single cross and a crease. I knew my views, I knew what I wanted, but I was seized with apathy, beccause what did it matter? I was just a man in a little wooden booth in a community centre, standing over a tiny slip of paper with a pencil that didn’t even belong to me, choosing between half a dozen people I’d never even met. It was so silly I had to laugh. The woman in the next booth gave me an odd look, as if to say that I wasn’t taking it seriously enough. I smiled back cheerfully.
Here we are again! things are still the same since the last time we met…..Not much writing, just thinking. Some days are better than others but all is good:)
john. name’s john.
i always try to forget about the rest.
my legacy.
just call me john.
yeah, but seriously. im named after my grandfather.
so
yeah
technically i’m a john WILKES BOOTH
except it’s not wilkes. now. it’s hitler.
my father married a hitler, and i don’t know which is worse.
As I sat across the booth from him, I was in a trance. His eyes had magical powers over me.
Dinner for two at Oliver Garden for the night. It was a warm summer night and the fire flies lit the way into the crowded restraunt. Waiting for only a few minutes our waitress took us back to our red booth. The seats were velvet with a few grease stains from careless eatters. A light hung low giving everything a soft, romantic glow. Icluding his features that were covered with love.
The inside of the telephone booth was grimy, the glass streaked with fingerprints and dirt. Reilly held the phone between the tips of his fingers, wondering what other grunge could be on it. He listened to the familiar ‘beep, beep, beep’ on the other end and sighed.
a place to kiss, make phone calls
tacky sales men clustered in a convention center
all selling similar versions of the same product
juicers, solar panels
trade shows
games at the circus
As the night begins, the waitress drew us over to our booth in a dark, romantic crner of the reastraunt. secluded, tantelizing. the seats had a deep maroon color that had a few grease stains here and there and the light hung low over the sticky table.
photo booth…i go in them with friends all the time…at the works at the party..now we are all different and apart…what’s up with that?? some people think object tear people apart…does this one? or is it coincidence?
I have a photobooth at the bar that I manage, people love it. Really, i should be at work right now and pasting up the images I blew up of people in the photobooth. Before that I need to make some wheat paste… I should really do this considering that it is my “project” day at work. Is it ironic that the first word that came up was booth? Not really, I am not surprised at all. So here we go.
I hate when restaurants seat you at a table. they are so much less comfortable than booths. I have always wondered if people actually do kissing booths. theres john wilkes booth, i think he killed lincoln. i rhymes with smooth.
restaurant
red
blue
black
beautiful
cigarettes
classy
50’s
women
Marilyn Monroe
Lincoln
James Wilkes Booth
Death
stowed away
forgotten