-Pinball & Champagne-
My phone rings
“I’m running late,” Eve says.
I hear the crunch of flint. She lights a dart on the other end of the line.
“No problem,” I reply.
“See you there at nine, love” the call ends in smokey static.
I walk downstairs to a brisk December evening and flag down a car. Tess waits in the entryway trying to stay warm.
We hop in a cab.
Left, right, another right, and $8.00 later, we arrive in front of a dimly lit bar downtown Brooklyn.
No bouncer greets us. A single barkeep occupies his post, chatting up a few locals. The jukebox in the corner pumping out some Lauryn Hill loud enough to keep feet tapping. A single glass of champagne sits on the bar, away from the other patrons.
I turn to Tess, “looks like Eve beat us here”. It is a well-known fact that champagne is all she drinks. What a classy gal.
we grab drinks and wait for Eve's return.
I pull out my camera.
The barkeep doesn’t blink as I start snapping photos of the girls. A few rounds later, the night takes a turn, we are dj's the jukebox at our mercy. The locals don’t seem to mind. We migrate to the back corner. A Creature pinball machine begs to be fed some quarters. I oblige, while the girls go back for a refill.
It’s 01:00 the barkeep and I trade facts on Rasputin; a shot of whiskey in celebration.
“The light in the bathroom looks pretty funky,” says Eve.
I load another roll of film.
We pile in, she is right, the light is pretty funky. The restroom is a deep Barney purple, the tiled interior and graffitied mirror add some character. A few accidental bumps of the hand dryer and giggles, I can only imagine all eyes are on the other side of the bathroom door. We spend 10 long minutes in the single stall bathroom, snapping photos and laughing. Our exit, coupled with glory and mystery reserved for only film and party people.
02:00 looms closer as we settle down and get to talking, covering topics such as lucid dreams, ex-boyfriends, and acid trips. We tip our glasses back in salute to Wednesday. Gathering our belongings, we trot back to our respective parts of Brooklyn to an early Thursday morning.
Words By Mitchell S. Bork
Alone she sat on a stool in an empty diner with a cup of coffee and a croissant when I walked in. I could see immediately that there was something fleeting about her presence. It was as though she was a ghost that I would only see once, but when I sat down on the barstool next to her I knew that she was more real than the tile beneath my feet. I said hello.
There was a certain music about her that I couldn’t quite read but the tune was of the blues, and I couldn’t stop listening.
“What brings you here?” I asked.
“A man I love.”
“I hope I didn’t take his place.”
“You did”
“Allow me to order a coffee first, if you don't mind.”
“Allow yourself.”
I took my seat and had my coffee and a sandwich; taking my time reading the Times. When I was ready to leave she was still there alone. On my way out I stopped to chat.
“He must be running late.”
“I don’t think he’s coming,” She relied.
“Well that’s a mistake on his part.”
“Kind of you to say, but I am not interested in pity.”
“I have no interest in offering pity.”
“Well, what then.”
“Just wanted to know why you’re waiting on a man thats not coming.”
“I’m studying.”
“I don’t see any books.”
“I’m studying the human condition. Heartbreak is part of that you know.”
“For you,” I said, “There need not be. Farewell.”
I left. But continued thinking about how there was no longer steam rising from her coffee, and what a fool whoever that man was to leave her waiting. I heard her call out to me from the doors of the coffee shop. I trudged on. I realized we all must study such a lesson at one point or another. It was my turn.
I met Denny & Liana at an event early July. Both decked out in complimentary era-reflective styles.Two months later I came across the Metro Transit Museum in Brooklyn. Finding a handful of old train cars from each respective era starting in 1903 on up. Immediately leaving the museum I reached out explaining what I had found. The following series is the end result of a colabrative work between the three of us. I even managed to sneak a few 35mm shots in.
Enjoy.
Tess and I took a family trip with her parents to Coney Island for a few rides and a Nathans Hot Dog. I had just finished reading Just Kids by Patti Smith, to avoid singing praise I will only say that it changed my life. While a fair part of this book takes place in the city there are a few memerable parts that take place in Coney Island. With that book acting as the backbone for the inspiration I loaded up a roll of color positive film and we headed to the F train.
Words by Mitchell Bork.
All of the afternoon in SoHo a slight smile shines and then disappears as if her mind is thinking rapidly, and thoroughly in-between frames. She doesn't walk. Instead, her feet simply kiss the concrete and tar and cobblestone. Her hair is as much of the ballet as her slow, elegant walk through the afternoon. Her gait is demonstrative that she is, indeed an astral.
Despite the endless hustle and bustle of Soho it is as if she is the only one there. Confidence never deterred by any passersby interrupting. A transplant from Germany, she is now a part of New York. This is her home and she is here to spoil the city.
With the spark of flint against rough stone, yet the precision of a skilled tailor she floats on. Existing along the teetering point of grace and defiant swagger. She demonstrates herself.
In Her Mirror
Words by Mitchell S. Bork
She woke feeling rested after a night full of more dreams than seemed could have fit into the the few hours she slept. In her dreams she explored worlds that offered fantasies that carried her into a morning of wanting to delve further into the postulates of her sleeping mind. She felt sexy and playful; a modern day Aphrodite in the morning. She has an affinity for the taste of champagne and the way the sunlight makes the bubbles look like diamonds in her glass. Maybe I will have two, or three, she thought.
Enjoying her morning champagne, and another chance to let life bring what it will, she felt coquettish in her skirt. She looked at one blouse in particular and remembered the day she bought it, and how she loved the way it complimented the peculiarities of her very being. When she had first worn it she had an idea in mind that had been taken from her like a vocalist who lost their voice. The road to success is never an easy one, and the toil bloodies all, and beats most, but she fought back with all the vigor of her spirit and the skies had cleared when the murder of crows had flown from sight. To remember the turns of the traveled road are as necessary as it is to continue. She wore that on her skin as the skies are now sunny again, like a glass that had forgiven the wine stained to its rim.
Across the room she sees a woman, but is pained by knowing a reflection can only tell part of the story. The six separate pieces looking back at her share the same essence. It is she who will truly shine when it matters most; even if only for a fleeting moment. She offers a pensive look at the past and a sultry wink to the future. Forever at her best when she is most abundantly alive, and there are diamonds in her glass.
