Tyler Knott Gregson - Tyler Knott Productions Brain Rain

Saturday, March 13, 2004

Today during my break at work I decided to sit still at a back table and make little observations about the people that came in and out of the bakery. I found that people are pretty funny creatures; while observing I made little notes about the quirky characteristics of a few random people, here were my observations:

An Old man with bright blue jeans rolled at his boots and a hat that barely fits. The plastic back is on its last peg and the fading hat sits at an angle on his head that makes me wonder if he always wears it that way, or just stopped caring. The faux fur lining of his jacket collar has been sweat into a gray black, darkest around his neck and wrists. His hands are workers hands, rough and scarred; they strain to pick out the $1.50 for a loaf of day old bread. He is leaving now, he pushes the door open with a slow patience and shuffles down the sidewalk with a lonely limp. He walks home.

Now a woman in a leopard vest, standing with an air of importance. She puts her hands on her hips a lot, I think when trying to make a point; maybe she used to talk with her hands a lot and is trying to stop, maybe she wants to be respected. Her hair is in place and she wears very little makeup. She looks directly at me now, I notice for a woman of her age she lacks the wrinkles of a woman that loves to laugh; the lines on her brow from crying. She leaves without saying thank you and pushes the door like she was trying to push through it. She smelled of licorice.

A young woman in a bright orange coat. She drips free spiritedness and smiles more than most people that come in. She seems to be indecisive about her indecision, re-pondering what she's already pondered. It is funny to me how the simple choice of what cookie to order has become so huge in her day. Her hair is simply pulled back and naturally curly. She is pretty in a way that seems as though it took no effort to be that way. Even without the coat, she is bright, I hope she comes back again for cookies, she made me smile.

A gray haired man in a loud striped rugby jersey just walked in, the word SPORT embroidered onto the middle of the blue stripe. His jeans are sagging in areas I did not know where prone to that, and the knees are worn thin to the color of his hair, carefully combed over. He wears his wallet in his left rear pocket even though he is right handed; this action he labors through each time he reaches for it, painfully reaching around his back with his right hand and pulling it out of his left pocket. He smells of cigarettes and walks slowly everywhere he goes. He leaves now.

A young woman with pants that make noise when she walks. You can hear her coming first, the fabric sliding against each other making the familiar track pant squeak. I smelled her next, it smelled like laundry and soap, some perfume I've never smelled. She is casual but confident and her voice sounds louder than should be coming out of a small body. Her eyes are a color I've never seen; a shade of green so bright it makes me wonder what part of her is darker to make up the difference. She smiles like it's an accident that comes without an apology.

eloquently said by

| 9:32 PM | | |

Tuesday, March 09, 2004

Golfing: Winter Style

eloquently said by

| 11:11 PM | | |


Saturday, March 13, 2004 Human Sampling Today during my break at work I decided to sit still at a back table and make little observations about the people that came in and out of the bakery. I found that people are pretty funny creatures; while observing I made little notes about the quirky characteristics of a few random people, here were my observations: An Old man with bright blue jeans rolled at his boots and a hat that barely fits. The plastic back is on its last peg and the fading hat sits at an angle on his head that makes me wonder if he always wears it that way, or just stopped caring. The faux fur lining of his jacket collar has been sweat into a gray black, darkest around his neck and wrists. His hands are workers hands, rough and scarred; they strain to pick out the $1.50 for a loaf of day old bread. He is leaving now, he pushes the door open with a slow patience and shuffles down the sidewalk with a lonely limp. He walks home. Now a woman in a leopard vest, standing with an air of importance. She puts her hands on her hips a lot, I think when trying to make a point; maybe she used to talk with her hands a lot and is trying to stop, maybe she wants to be respected. Her hair is in place and she wears very little makeup. She looks directly at me now, I notice for a woman of her age she lacks the wrinkles of a woman that loves to laugh; the lines on her brow from crying. She leaves without saying thank you and pushes the door like she was trying to push through it. She smelled of licorice. A young woman in a bright orange coat. She drips free spiritedness and smiles more than most people that come in. She seems to be indecisive about her indecision, re-pondering what she's already pondered. It is funny to me how the simple choice of what cookie to order has become so huge in her day. Her hair is simply pulled back and naturally curly. She is pretty in a way that seems as though it took no effort to be that way. Even without the coat, she is bright, I hope she comes back again for cookies, she made me smile. A gray haired man in a loud striped rugby jersey just walked in, the word SPORT embroidered onto the middle of the blue stripe. His jeans are sagging in areas I did not know where prone to that, and the knees are worn thin to the color of his hair, carefully combed over. He wears his wallet in his left rear pocket even though he is right handed; this action he labors through each time he reaches for it, painfully reaching around his back with his right hand and pulling it out of his left pocket. He smells of cigarettes and walks slowly everywhere he goes. He leaves now. A young woman with pants that make noise when she walks. You can hear her coming first, the fabric sliding against each other making the familiar track pant squeak. I smelled her next, it smelled like laundry and soap, some perfume I've never smelled. She is casual but confident and her voice sounds louder than should be coming out of a small body. Her eyes are a color I've never seen; a shade of green so bright it makes me wonder what part of her is darker to make up the difference. She smiles like it's an accident that comes without an apology. eloquently said by \| 9:32 PM \| \| \| Tuesday, March 09, 2004 Golfing: Winter Style eloquently said by \| 11:11 PM \| \| \|	Tyler Knott Productions Tyler Knott Photography Vimeo Tumblr Twitter Clutch Del.icio.us MySpace Last.fm LinkedIn Resumé Atom Feed Twitters follow me on Twitter Horizon Expanders McGraw Donovan Dave Morin Flickr Blog Jaymie Keller Kevin Casey Nate Warner Rachel Hoffenberg Sarah Joelle Sarah Joelle's Music My Photography Past Downpours Copyright This work is licensed under a Creative Commons License.