Friday, October 28, 2011

Super 8

Caught the train to the East Village
Stepped into the light
My feet hurt
That new shoes kinda hurt
I glanced again at the address I had written down
It seemed to me that the place was only a block away
When I found it, I was surprised to see that it was in the basement of a house
I opened the rather plain door and let myself in
Instantly, I could smell the chemicals of film processing
There was a din of motion and machinery
A telephone rang
Music played but I did not recognise it
Two men stood behind a wall of lab equipment
They studied their craft furiously and with such intent
That I knew right away i could trust them with most any charge
And they would man their posts with diligence
There were three film students waiting inside
They smiled and I smiled back
We understood each other and the language of purity
A short, middle aged woman approached the counter and took some rolls of stock from one of the students
They exchanged pleasantries and promises and expectations and then the students left
I asked the woman for the two film stocks I needed and she left and returned a moment later
She asked if I wanted a bag and when I said yes, she placed the rolls of film into a small, brown paper bag.
I paid and thanked her and walked out.
I took one quick look over my shoulder for memory and headed back toward the subway.


1 comment:

  1. I returned to this place in Dec. 12. It was the same. Nothing had changed. I ordered some B and W film and took 2 rolls with me.

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