Drink Puff, Puff Drink Skip to main content

Featured

You're Nobody's Producer

The glow of the old school CRT monitor cast an almost sacred light on our faces, and later the Philips TV, the screen for a digital aurora in the box-room. I remember the specific thrum of the PlayStation, the click of its disc drive, and the rhythmic, almost hypnotic sequence of button presses as I meticulously layered beats and melodies. This was for his GCSE music project, a task he’d presented with a shrug and an almost imperceptible plea for help. He didn't do or say much; he rarely did. He just sat there, knees pulled up to his chest on the floor, watching me, a silent, still observer as I sculpted a rudimentary track from the limited palette of an early 2000s music creation game. His presence was like a barely perceptible hum in the room, a quiet witness to the genesis of something out of nothing. I remember thinking, in that precise moment, that he was involved. Not creatively, not actively, but his quiet watchfulness, his unblinking gaze, felt like a silent endorsement, ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Drink Puff, Puff Drink

As twilight draped the city in shades of indigo, Steph leaned against the old brick wall, the surface warm from the day’s heat. The air was thick with the scent of roasted coffee and the faintest hint of tobacco. She lifted her takeaway cup, the aroma enveloping her senses. With a flick of her wrist, she pulled out a cigarette, her fingers deftly rolling it between them.

The ritual began. She sipped the steaming coffee first, the rich flavour igniting her spirit. It was a moment of quiet rebellion, a splash of warmth against the coolness of evening. With a sigh, she exhaled slowly, before bringing the cigarette to her lips. As the smoke curled, it danced in the fading light, ephemeral and haunting.



Steph’s gaze drifted across the street where shadows lingered, past the laughter of friends gathering in clusters, their carefree chatter drifting like leaves in the wind. She felt alone but alive, suspended between two worlds — the comfort of caffeine and the allure of smoke intertwining like old lovers.

Another sip, another toke. The coffee washed down the bitterness of the world around her, while the cigarette exuded a wisdom she longed for. In that brief moment, Steph was both the dreamer and the dream, caught in the fragile balance of indulgence.



As the sun dipped below the horizon, the city buzzed with life, but she remained there, lost in a haze of reflection, savoring each delicate blend of smoke and warmth, each small rebellion against a world that moved too fast.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular Posts