david schrott is everywhere

saturday cities

Posted in Uncategorized by thebreakfastdictator on 08/22/2010

i shook it.

Five tables down, the fifth guy over finishes his sandwich. Pedestrians pound the pavement. Rain is coming. The city is gritty once again. Here comes Autumn.

Sweep. Sweep. Sweep. Farewell dirt and grime, says Mr Clean. Farewell for seconds. His job starts over. Cities grow grey in their stubborn refusal to stay spic and span.

Inhale dirt. Exhale filth.

Oil stains and over-chewed gum spots – the pink turns black; like a cancerous lung.

Gears grind underneath the innocent asphalt. Electric. Gas. Water. Now, Internet. Even FIOS. The gears turn, oiled by slippery dollars. Information speeds.

Faster. Faster. Faster.

It’s better if it’s faster, you know? No one can wait anymore. We don’t have time to wait. Time’s a movin’. I’ll be dead soon. So will you.

Shuffle past the trash. Hear the city inhale. Smell the city exhale. You’d think it’s dying, but it keeps on living. Living like a leper.

Unclean. Unclean. Unclean!


Sundays at 756 (1)

Posted in Personal Work, polaroid by thebreakfastdictator on 08/18/2010

15 August 2010

Summer turned Autumn without notice. Hundred degree days give way to thick grey clouds and damp breezes that loft themselves across the land. Silver is ripe for exposure. It has sat dormant for days too long. Processing is over-due.

Inside, the food is carefully prepared; lovingly cute. Cheese, pesto, green tomatoe. Slices of thin potatoe and onion are dropped in the hot pan. Coffee is carefully ground, the water boiled, the press set.

“Let’s run up on the roof. We’ll try a polaroid. I think it’ll work okay to-day. It’s coolish out and with these beautiful clouds in the sky, who can resist?”


Still too warm. The new film is still a little off. Everything comes up dark.

“Yo. I gotta roll. See you at four?”

“Nah, I’m on nights this week. Only slept three hours last night. I gotta get some rest.”

“Alright. Later on, my man.”


i visited raper country and i feel fine (1)

Posted in Uncategorized by thebreakfastdictator on 08/15/2010

ninety-five is clogged around the broad street exit. it’s like this every day. seventy-six, well, it’s its same old self. take oregon to penrose. angle south, toward the airport. find george platt. traffic avoided.

it’s a long drive from here to iowa but the interstate pleads for the pleasure of german engineering. pound the silky black asphault. 70, 75, 80, 85. now rain. 80, 70, 60, 50, 40, 35. a crawl. two hours to pittsburgh, now four. forget that. somerset is over forty miles away. that’s over an hour drive.

$59.94 gets one a hotel off exit 110, less than 30 miles from five years of childhood memories. we left in ’85; work was impossible to find in the rust belt. the grass was greener outside of steeler country and it had nothing to do with the philadelphia team’s colors.

the beds were packed neatly but there was no soap. the drain in the shower was in the middle of the tub floor rather than under the drain. such a strange place this is. all roadside hotels are. who’s slept here before? maybe someone famous. maybe a kleptomaniac like myself, stealing toilet paper along interstate 70.