Greasy Spoon on an Empty Street by Chipka
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No AI - This artwork was created entirely by hand or with traditional digital tools.
Description
Money is the presence that burns tight pockets, slack and baggy pockets, or pockets with holes and lint and the lone half-shell of a pistachio eaten long ago.
Money is the absence in pockets too tight for a fist, but loose enough for a hand unfurled with fingers close, fingers touching for warmth, for need of a handshake or a caress, a kiss brushed lightly to their tips.
The street—tonight—is the bastard-spawn of money and absence. Mist clings to the air, to the sponge-meat of hungry lungs, to the nape of the neck, where hairs stand—prickled—against the threat of aggression. There is aggression: in the shadows. To the east, where the city reaches for the languorous caress of the lake, sirens wail at the advent of some emergency. This is where the neck hairs prickle, where he finds keys in the pocket and furls his clasp around them. For defense. There are seven keys on the ring, eight keys…nine. The count, he thinks, is as imprecise as beer-addled memory, but there are enough keys to skewer the spaces between each finger. Keys enough to jab into the eyes or the neck of any assailant who might materialize from the shadows. He knows how to do this, how to jab with keys placed in the finger-spaces of a clenched and compact fist.
He walks—through absence and moist air—along the street, counting steps to keep his mind focused. Hunger has made a nest in his gut, and so he will banish it as quickly as he can. At this hour, finer restaurants are a convenience far from reach. Their windows are dark, their staff at home, nestled in whatever lives occupy their late nights. At this hour, the street is empty of all but a lone wanderer, a whisper of mist, and the sound of law enforcement emergency over there: to the east, where the city reaches for the lake.
There is a place for food. It is lit with gold and neon. It is cheap. Its furnishings are outdated, its silverware, dented. He knows the night-waitress—if not by name, then by face and by her hours of employment. She knows him, he imagines, not by name, but by the stubble-scruff on his face and the fall of sand-colored hair over the crests of his ears. She judges him, he knows, as a meticulous tipper, and sometimes—though not often—she smiles.
He has money—enough for the late night convenience of food in the only place open—enough for cigarettes (still sold over the counter here, though smoking indoors is strictly forbidden.) He has money, and the absence of money and gold-blond hairs standing prickled on the nape of his neck. Police sirens wail in the east, where the city seeks the lake.
Soon, he will eat. And after, with smoke in his lungs, he will make the walk home.
***
The greasy spoon pictured isn't actually the same as the one depicted in the text above. They share little in common. The source of this image is a particularly...um...local establishment in Albany Park. On occasion, you can get food with your grease, and service from a waitress defined by her inattentive absence, chipped and lumpy fingernail polish, and dark hair pulled into a weather-damaged ponytail.
I took this picture a couple of weeks ago, during a nocturnal wander through the streets of Albany Park. Corey and I were both in search of something, anything to satisfy our itchy shutter fingers. There wasn't much, but there was a greasy spoon, a familiar and underwhelming place with light and colors far more inviting than the food and the service.
As always, thank you for viewing and reading and commenting, and Happy Mother's Day to those in the maternal demographic and to all of the offspring who make that demographic possible.
Comments (32)
Amazing work, Chip. Your image is a masterpiece and your works evoke such strong feelings - we feel the chill and emptiness of the night and head to the oasis of light that is the diner.
Dang, you simply nailed this--it's moody, and so right on I can almost smell that old coffee and feel the grease on the counter stools. All kinds of shady characters will be there, taking refuge in its anonymous walls. I was in a place very similar to this in SF's Haight district a couple of years ago. We went in while the sun was still out; when we left it was dark. It was as though all the night creatures came out; and they were NOT friendly. We we very happy to make it the two blocks back to the car. Mean streets indeed after dark. This is just GOOD stuff!!
remind me of the greasy spoon places when I was growing up. used to go there and get a coke and watch as some one gets up to leave I jump in the chair then and eat what they left behind. got a forth of a steak that way one time. I never do that today but when you young you dumb too
Oh, I see somebody has finally posted a picture of the worst restaurant in Chicago…of course there is that place under the Argyle El, in Little Vietnam…but their food is actually edible,so I hear. Great shot and I remember that night very well. Your story really isn’t that far off the reality you’re depicting here. Once again, very nice shot and great, moody/grungy postwork.
It's tough to make a good photo of something so familiar, but you've certainly done it! Wonderful image and commentary.
Spot on editing and wonderful writing my friend.
Wow ! Great postwork. Love atmosphere, very mysterious !
Very evocative, and recognisable around the world. Excellent post work on this one!
I agree with Sea Dog and beachzz. I am amazed... again. Man! you live, Chip.
Greasy or not... the image is cold and the spot of warmth looks inviting!!! How about taking an extra cholesterol tablet and go have a sandwich and a coffee... LOL... I love this shot Chip!
Love the feel of this, great work.
I recognise this archetypal image! I live in a 'city' of night eateries, you have captured the sleaziness perfectly. (just remembered you use that word differently to us..never mind!)
thinking of Edward Hoppers painting 'Nighthawks' cool shot
You really nailed this....such an impressive mood
superbe atmosphere!!
I can smell the trans fats and feel the human warmth, however remote. Your words have such life, strongly supported by your imagery...
fantastic work ! its a beautiful imagine and great info
Yes, Hopper-esque with an added layer of old grease...great shot and mood!
Wonderful nightshot and postwork, very well done!
splendid picture and story!! This places are so "alien" to me and so familiar too! so intriguing!
That's poetry and if you can find a shot where you know there are none - a poet twice more. Very enjoyable.
i agree with prutzworks and MrsRatbag, Hopperesque. a den of greasy guilty pleasures.
Excellent image!
good shot, post-work and prose
outstanding work! i'm fascianted by those diners, always open, and they make me think of old Pa' Hemingway, you remember the short story.. but also that stupid, funny ad of the guy who is arrssted wrongly and cleans his teeth with a chewing gum. From the outside these diners seem the proper spot to meet lost souls, but they often show themselves friendly if one enters. I had cozy chats with tired waitresses there, sometimes.
All you need is James Dean a third of the way down the street!
As I read the story I had this continual sense of a cold night where the threatening weather alternated from high winds to to rain sleet to snow and back again. The name of the place "Huddle House Grill" is most apt for the conditions. The story is restless (cold will do that to you) and your photo emphasizes this with an interior brings to mind a transit terminal (60's or early 70's era) with the orange plastic seats. People come in for quick food as they wait for a connection to elsewhere. Perhaps there is (or more likely was) a bus terminal across the street. And the cold fluorescent lighting pouring out onto the dark empty street is very effective in creating the sense of isolation the character must feel - at least I feel it. Now so emersed into this world, you tease us with the promise of food. Any food. I must eat now.
Wonderful work on this, you really captured a mood here.
The photo is very good Chip but the narrative is outstanding. I could feel the mist and hear the sounds of the night and sirens to the east where the city finds the lake. Dana
I had a job for the last 18 years of employment that took me to many cities in the USA and a few more in Germany and Korea. Half of my visits had me on 12 hour night shifts. There was always a much longed for foray into the night for "breakfast". These trips in the USA were as much about getting out of a hot, tired simulation center filled with hot, sleepy people as they were about getting something to eat. There usually was a Denny's...or a trucker's rest stop...well lit...but with that overused interior. You know, where the shiny vinyl seats all are sunken and molded to your cheeks:) from lots of bottoms that have sat there before you. And there is always that rough around the edges waitress who sloshes a cup of coffee your way and says, "What'll it be Hon? The apple pie is hot." So, in my world, there is a warm spot for greasy spoons...and it sounds like in your world too... Your photo feels both familiar and comfortably greasy thanks to your excellent postwork. :)