I walked into my house the door wide open and a damn sword stuck the ceiling; I could see the back yard with a crapload of holes in it again. This is the last time I am going to let my roommate bring his crazy gofer friends over again. The last party they had the gofers brought over some woodchuck prostitutes and they chewed off all my legs to the table, who know what they did with them. This GSCA group gets way out of hand. That is Gofers Society for Creative Anachronism.
Humans and need love and attachments like we need water and air. As we move throughout our lives from babies to adults attachments, have essential roles to play from making sure our biological needs are met by providing us with comfort, trust, and a sense of interconnectedness. Since attachments are such an integral and emotional part of our lives, it makes sense why we are separated from or lose people we are attached to it can be such an excruciating experience. For children losing attachment figures can be an especially scaring experience leaving wounds that may last into adulthood and well beyond. Such was the case for a woman named Francine Cournos, author of City of One: A Memoir.
In summary, on 09/21/15 at 0418 hours I was patrolling the area of 1600 S. Laramie Ave., at which time I observed a male subject with a youthful appearance walking northbound 16th Street. I made contact with the subject, at which time he identified himself as (Rosas, Alexis DOB 04/21/97). While speaking with Rosas, I detected a strong odor of fresh cannabis emanating from his person. Rosas related he had some cannabis in his sweater pocket. I recovered a silver box containing a green leafy substance from Rosas ' right sweater pocket.
“Toronto existing in layers” (Mandel) and such is the impression of Miranda as she ventures once more into the vast city of Toronto, after her time in New York. Upon her arrival in the city, a pang of nostalgia hits her as she reminisces her first arrival: “she’d always liked the descent into this city, the crowded towers by the lakeshore, the way an infinite ocean of suburbia rushed inward and came to a point at the apex of the CN Tower…the city had shocked her with its vastness when she’d arrived…” (Mandel). Such descriptions might appear as mere imageries of the city, for these are common sights—the crowded city, the suburbs, and the CN--one can see when travelling into the city of Toronto. It is a familiar setting and something that is
The road looks wet and people are wearing rain coats and ponchos to probably protect themselves from the rain. People could be leaving town because a bad storm is coming. There seems to be a lot more men in the streets and in the cars than there are women. Most of the cars and people walking in the streets seem to all be going in the same direction. There are some cars at the front of the road that are going the opposite direction of the other cars, possibly because they were abandoned.
Shirley Jackson wrote the famous short story The Lottery in 1948, a time where people often hosted these with cash or numerous prizes. The way the story is twisted, told, foreshadowed and characterized is impressive because it keeps the reader guessing, asking the questions, “Who will win?” and “What’s the prize?” That truly is the beauty in this story and how it keeps the reader on a hook like a fish, until that final pull to being on land, and in the bucket. The Lottery is a short story about an annual event in which one person is to be randomly chosen to be stoned to death by the people in the village. By using and impressive display of symbolism Jackson uses names, objects, and the setting to conceal the true meaning and intention of the
Montreat, North Carolina is a Presbyterian Youth Conference located in Black Mountain. We meet so many new people, we exchange opinions, and we share our difficulties. We become so much closer to our youth group, which for the week is referred to as our back-home group. Montreat is such a safe place. I know I can truly be myself whether I am with my friends or with strangers.
As I peer through the thick smoke, reminding myself why I chose to come in the first place, I see a half dead man on the floor- begging for water. We don’t have enough food or clothes. There are very few of us left to fight against the redcoats. Even though on some days we are cheerful, we are starving and freezing. I am wondering if I should re-enlist or go back home.
One day, on an early Thanksgiving morning, my family and I, drove out of Valdosta to a farm. Our goal, wasn't to buy a turkey but rather goats, chickens, and a rabbit. At first, what I saw were a big empty land of dirt, plowed and perhaps ready for the seeds to be planted. Out further, I could see the woods surrounding the land and a gathering of crows flying and dancing, with the sun high in the sky. There's also was a small wooden house and cluster of cages separated by a big metal fence.
After we drove to a bunch of towns in between Wolfville, like Kentville, Canning, and New Minas. It's weird because all the towns here are very old and spread out and concentrated at the core of each town. On a map, they are also on a line and I have a feeling that was how the train tracks aligned up in the olden days. I've hardly seen any homeless people and garbage laying on the street. I will say I am seeing a lot of dessert buildings though.
From the roar of the crowd filling the stands, to the vigorous scratching of pens and pencils on paper, the city of Cupertino has provided a unique atmosphere for me to grow and develop in. Ever since I first picked up a baseball bat at 5 years old, there has never been a period of time I wasn’t participating in sports. I love competition as it always drives me to be the best I can possibly be. In everything I do, I intend to stand triumphant and compete to the utmost of my abilities.
I wake up the screeching of my alarm clock, prompting me to get out of bed even before the sun begins its day. Outside, the street is silent, but I cannot see far because of the morning fog. I was excited for the day, looking forward to the results of yesterday’s work. In the city of Houston, Texas, vastly different cultures collide.
I'm exploring various areas for retirement, which presently includes Raleigh/Durham, and possibly Asheville, for visits up to six months of the year. Hopefully, I will be lucky to meet acquaintances who are similar in age who are willing to connect without the need for a rushed relationship. I would like to settle down but I am realistic and will admit that I am careful. I am hopeful for a mature commitment in the future. An important aspect is flexibility as my lifestyle involves travel, which is unavoidable.
(line 43) The actions introduced in the first stanza confirm that it is a city even further: “for a walk among the hum-colored cabs. First, down the sidewalk where laborers feed their dirty glistening torsos sandwiches and Coca-Cola, with yellow helmets on. They protect them from falling bricks, I guess.” (lines 2-6)
As the car was in motion on the way to where I would be staying I rolled the window down. Something other than the tall green grasses and canopy trees caught my attention. I finally started to see some scattered buildings, hotels, and restaurants. The city started to seem more urbanized, that wasn 't the only infrastructure that I saw, more was yet to come. As we went deeper into the rural areas the buildings disappeared and the sidewalks started to become more deteriorated.
