October 28, 2014

On my way to lunch I passed an old red Mini (which you can sort of see behind the clothes) with this clothes rack behind it and I thought “oh maybe this will be a cool Dailimage” so I snapped a few shots. Once I was done I continued on and just after I passed the car, turned around and took one shot of the clothes rack. As it turns out I’m using this ‘last second’ shot for my Dailimage… I find that funny. And it also probably explains why this photo is faaaar from perfect. But I like the clothes and the light.

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Yesterday I stumbled upon a blog post proposing a writing challenge and I decided to take it! The challenge (accessible here) was to “write a poem, a short story, a vignette, a scene, or flash fiction based on Nighthawks by Edward Hopper” and post it on your own blog. Which is why I decided to mix it with the Dailimage for the day of the challenge. Ideally I would’ve posted it all yesterday but I had home internet issues so delayed posting it is.

Nighthawks / Dailimages Crossover

I left the clothes rack, where all the costumes were hanging, right outside the holding area and went in to get myself a much-needed cup of coffee.

I accepted my first paying gig without asking a single question, and am now stuck in the indie movie equivalent of an off-off-off-off Broadway show. Of course, to make things more interesting, we are shooting in some ghost town somewhere in the middle of Pennsylvania, and production put us up in the seemingly-sleaziest-and-furthest-from-set motel they could find. Being the costume designer/assistant/intern, I have to wake up extra early every day to carry the costumes from my room, where they are kept safe, to the set.

Already two weeks of this circus down. Three to go. But it’s not all bad. Take today (or tonight rather) for instance: on my way to our new location, I stumbled upon the strangest scene. As I was dragging my costumes rack though this almost abandoned town (its two restaurants always quasi-empty and closed by 8pm), at four in the morning, I passed a brightly lit fifties style diner. With three persons inside! I almost gasped, so shocked was I by that vision. I stood on the other side of the dimly lit street and observed them —I worried a little that they might see me but I couldn’t move anyway, I was hypnotized. On one side of the triangular bar, a man, donned in a grey suit and hat, was sitting with his back turned to me, a fuming coffee mug next to him. On the other side, facing me, was a gorgeous woman: red haired, in a bright red dress, wearing a blood-like shade of lipstick. She looked deep in thought, her chin resting on her hand. Next to her a man, wearing a beautiful navy suit and a fedora had his arms crossed on the bar. He was looking straight ahead, possibly at the waiter, who seemed busy preparing something. It looked as though the man and woman hadn’t said a word to each other since they had sat down. Were they a couple? Siblings? Coworkers? Was she a prostitute and he a client? And what about that man alone? A drunkard trying to sober up? A Death of a Salesman type of character? I wondered if there was music inside the diner. I couldn’t hear any from where I was standing but maybe the volume was just really low. Somehow I thought music would make the whole affair less disturbing.

All of a sudden a bird flew from a nearby tree and snapped me out of my reverie. I looked at my watch: I had been observing them for over fifteen minutes and was running late! I hurriedly grabbed my clothes rack and started dragging it again. The noise startled the diner patrons. The man sitting alone turned around and looked straight at me. I was frozen by his stare. He seemed to be in his sixties with very pale complexion, piercing eyes and a commanding demeanor. He got up and started walking towards the door (towards me?). I wanted to run away but my feet would not let me. In the background I noticed the man and the woman had started whispering to each other (about me?), which only added to my fear.

The door opened with a bell sound, the mysterious man stepped out and addressed me: “Why don’t you come in and have a milkshake with us instead of lurking in the shadows?” After a silence, I managed to utter a low, quivering “No, thank you”. None to be discouraged, he approached me and added, “I must insist.” Mustering up all the courage I could find I replied that I really had to leave as I was going to be late for work. Noticing the clothes he asked if I was part of the film crew, which I confirmed. This answer elicited an evasive “I see…” followed by a more confident “Please, do come by tomorrow then and have a shake with us. We always meet at 3 am sharp. We will tell you our story. Don’t be late” Utterly confused and unable to say a word, I watched him return to the diner, sit back on his stool and resume drinking his coffee.

Sipping my own terrible coffee and reflecting on the eeriness of the experience, I was dying to tell someone about it, to grab someone by the hand and walk back to that diner with them, just to make sure that I hadn’t hallucinated the whole episode. But an external force compelled me to remain silent.

Both terrified and enthralled by that out-of-time moment and the milkshake date I guess I had agreed to, I debated taking another route to work tomorrow. I disposed of the plastic cup and went out to grab the clothes for the sixteen-hour workday awaiting me. Chewing on the stirrer, I wondered if they had Oreo milkshakes. It seemed like a good flavor to listen to the life story of strangers.