We are so close to the beginning of our story. Show dates coming soon.
Listen to The Beat Band by tree hopping.
Sailing into the double exposure.
Nick DeWolf Photo Archive’s photostream on Flickr.
Great archival photos from the fifties.The Joy of Quiet
Trying to escape the constant stream of too much information.
Most Beautiful Film Ever.
Slow Motion Excercise
Faces
—Debris
I left you on the debris, at the sunday morning market…
Edith Zimmerman
“Little Jimmy Davidson is here for his checkup, Dr. Hartwell,” my secretary said over the telecom. “Little Jimmy!” I said in return. “Perfect, perfect. Send him in immediately.” “Yes, sir,” she said, and in a few moments little Jimmy Davidson shuffled shyly into my office. “Hello, Jimmy!” I bellowed, to dispel his fear. “It’s nice to see you, little boy!” I smiled at him with all my teeth—a broad and professional grin. But instead of smiling back at me, he twisted one leg behind the other and stared down at the floor. “Ohhh,” I said, getting up and walking toward him, “did wittle Jimmy not want to visit da doctow today?” I leaned down close to his face and used my child-friendly voice. “Is wittle Jimmy afwayd of big mistow doctow?” I asked. Squeezing his eyes shut, Jimmy nodded almost imperceptibly. “Aww,” I said, laughing. “Da wittle boy is so fwytened! But that’s not a problem,” I said. “Not a problem at all! I was scared yesterday, too, Jimmy, did you know that? That’s right, Dr. Hartwell knows the feeling: He was alarmed because his eyeball was bleeding, for whatever reason. That’s why he has this thick eye patch covering one side of his face—it’s for absorbing all the blood that keeps leaking out of his eye. Anyway, Jimmy, it’s time for your shots.” As I said this, I reached down and picked him up, which made him scream in terror. “Don’t worry, tiny baby man,” I said as I set him down on the table. Tears slid down his face, so I put my thumbs in my ears, wiggled them around, and gave him a goofy look. “Look at me, I’m a clown! OK, here, this is what the needle looks like,” I said as I drew out a long steel syringe and held it in front of his face. “Now I’m going to count to thirty, and at the count of thirty I’ll stick it in your arm. Ready? Okay: Wuu-uun, two-oo, thre-ee, fo-oour, fii-ive, sii-iix, se-eeeeven…” I counted extra slowly until I reached thirty, and then right as I was about to jab the needle into the boy’s trembling bicep I waited for a few extra seconds and then, because kids love it when you talk about animals, I whispered, “Here comes Mister Needle, Jimmy, and he looks like a long pointy eel. Do you like DOGS?!” And as I yelled “DOGS,” I plunged the needle into his arm. I love my job!The Doctor
A very short story.
