I was the hallway clown in high school.
Coming upon a space that sounds unique and incredible is just the best feeling. Sometimes, it's under a bridge or down a stairwell or hallway. Sometimes, it's pitch-black or incredibly warm or in full daylight on a rooftop. I did a shoot recently for a clothing line, Somedays Lovin. I got to stand on the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean and play my guitar basically all day. It felt endlessly powerful.
I actually write a lot, but mostly just daily gibberish. I am a documentation addict: "I just peed. I walked down the hallway. I dropped my pencil. I just aged a minute."
I wasn't even in a theater because I guess nobody believed in me, so I was in the hallway of a theater on a platform that they would move so the main stage show could go on at eight o'clock and I'd be gone.
South Africa, it's like the little asshole of the whole world - it's, like, the bottom. It's, like, in the dark depths of the hallway.
I'd say probably the most epic experience was before the Victoria's Secret show - I think it was before the casting - and I saw Naomi Campbell at a party. I was saying that I was nervous about my walk and she said "Come to my hotel tomorrow and we're going to practice." So I went in New York and we practiced in the hallway of her hotel with all of the hotel staff watching. She just said "Don't even flinch. Keep going!" It was hilarious, but I think that was kind of a confidence booster.
The first session I did with the Stones was an accident. I just happened to be wandering down the hallway of the same studio.
I never was strutting through the hallways like, "Yeah, I'm a singer/songwriter." That's never a cool thing to do - to be the brooding guy.
I can't imagine how you can find the discipline to be emotionally detached reporting on a revolution, the winds of which are blowing right down the hallways of the publication you work for. That's like an orthopedic surgeon trying to perform arthroscopic surgery on their own knee. It's possible, but it's hard to see through all the pain.
That's Collin."She panicked."He can't see you!" Don't tell me you're afraid of your own brother?"Staton seemed to think that was funny.She hated the smirk that crept over his face. She shoved him."You want Collin to kill you?Hide." That made him laugh louder."Kill me?" Stop it,"she warned him,or he'll hear you." You think I should be afraid of your brother?I'm immortal." Collin's heavy steps filled the downstairs hallway.Her heart raced.Why was life so complicated?
And then something truly bizarre happened. I could feel his touch through our eyes. I couldn't look away from him. The girl in front of him seemed to disappear, and all there was in the hallway was him and the sweet, beautiful smell of his blood.
What are you doing in there, waxing your mustache?” Iggy yelled, pounding on the bathroom door. I yanked the door open and pushed him backward hard, making him stagger. “I don’t have a mustache, you idiot!” Iggy giggled and put his arms up to protect himself in case I punched him. “And you know what?” I added. “You don’t have one either. Well, maybe in a couple years. You can always hope.” I left him in the hallway, anxiously fingering his upper lip.
As I raced out of the office, I could hear Emily rapid-fire dialing four-digit extensions and all but screaming, 'She's on her way-- tell everyone.' It took me only three seconds to wind through the hallways and pass through the fashion department, but I had already heard panicked cries of 'Emily said she's on her way in' and 'Miranda's coming!' and a particularly blood curdling cry of 'She's baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack!
I walk around the school hallways and look at the people. I look at the teachers and wonder why they're here. If they like their jobs. Or us. And I wonder how smart they were when they were fifteen. Not in a mean way. In a curious way. It's like looking at all the students and wondering who's had their heart broken that day, and how they are able to cope with having three quizzes and a book report due on top of that. Or wondering who did the heart breaking. And wondering why.
There were so many Pittsburgh poets in my hallway that if, at that instant, a meteorite had come smashing through my roof, there would never have been another stanza written about rusting fathers and impotent steelworkers and the Bessemer convertor of love.
Iggy: "Now what? Who you gonna call?" A quiet voice in the hallway outside: "Ghostbusters!" (Captain Perry and John groan) John: "That phrase is ruined forever.
I remember when I was 5 living on Pulaski Street in Brooklyn, the hallway of our building had a brass banister and a great sound, a great echo system. I used to sing in the hallway.
Sometimes, to keep things exciting, I decorate my house as if I owned a child. I'll toss a tiny pair of shoes in the hallway or lean small wooden crutches in what I refer to as 'the baby's room,' which is actually a tiny space where I make things. I continue to call it the baby's room because it confuses people and it's creepy.
In the course of transferring all my CDs to my iPod, I have found myself wandering the musical hallways of my past and reacquainting myself with music I haven't listened to in years.
The palace started as a single vaulted room and grew in proportion to my despair. It began as an exercise to keep my mind from its melancholy, then it became a dream and a necessity. . . . I built a temple in my head. . . . Its hallways were as lofty as a cathedral, and the arch of each window as supple as a bow. Its corridors were the passages of my own brain.
Rebecca held her head high and swanned across the hallway, but as she neared the footman, she could see quite plainly that his gaze was not where it should be. She stopped dead and slapped her hands over her bosom. "Its too low, isn't it? I knew I shouldn't have listened to that maid. She might not mind her boobies hanging out for all to see, but i just can't-" Her brain suddenly caught up with her mouth. She removed her hands from her bosom and slapped them over her awful, awful, awful mouth.
I used to think I preferred getting old to the alternative, but now I'm not sure. Sometimes the momotony of bingo and sing-alongs and ancient dusty people parked in the hallway in wheelchairs makes me long for death. Particularly when I rememver that I'm one of the ancient dusty people, filed away like some worthless tchotchke.
So I take it you guys are going to stay inside my flat and not out in the hallway like my father’s guards? (Kiara) You know that’s the most pathetic way to guard someone. (In a falsetto he added.) Please protect my life by being outside so that when they come in and kill me you can’t hear it. (Syn)
In fact, he's never taken an interest in a woman before. I was beginning to to suspect he might prefer one of his male sneaks, but now..." She paused dramatically. "Now, we have the lovely, intelligent Yelena to get Valek's cold heart pumping." "You really should get out of your sewing room more. You need fresh air and a dose of reality," I said knowing better than to believe a word Dilana said, but unable to control the silly little grin on my face. Her sweet, melodious laughter followed me into the hallway. "You know I'm right, " she called.
My father was in the kitchen putting a new washer in the kitchen faucet. He looked relieved to see Morelli standing in the hallway. He'd probably prefer I bring home someone useful, like a butcher or a car mechanic, but I guess cops are a step up from undertakers.
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