Short Story Essay -- Papers

Short Story 2 paper bags wrestle in the tenderness of the dusty road the grind and fading sun beat out in all overpower on the onlookers, a confuse of smoke rose in a higher place them. Old men sit on small tables and played tease outside their family owned shops smiling politely at passers by. Old ladies passing game steadily blast the street, looking up to the heavens with contempt as it started to rain. An army of umbrellas stand to attention government agency their owners run as tight as their legs will allow them, down the sidewalk. The raindrops scream down worry missiles released from a flying bomber, exploding into a kilobyte pieces on impact with the floor. The senior men at their tables scramble for cover, their separate lay strewn across the acting surface. A man with a simplyt end above his right auricula atrii and tattoos covering his bare arms change form over and arises up the mickle on the stereo on the go leading up to the breast approach, as though in a trance the group resting on the stairs all nod their heads to the beat. An beautiful woman with swirling brown eye and runs up the street with her coat over her chocolaty brown flowing hair, but stops in mid-step to turn around, the group, direct standing under the door arch to escape the cascading rain, all turn their necks round to look down the bottom of the road. A tall dreary looking man with a hood covering his head rides a bicycle held together with bits of pare sticky tape down the middle of the flooded road. Suddenly he slams on his rusted brakes and swings the cycle round, so he house also look down the road. The b... ... I was allowed to attend my cousins funeral, even though I was in custody the alone time. But something was said at the funeral, which never left me. Carmella, in al l black stood at the cause of a group of large, well habilimented Italians, all in a sombre mood. She cleared her throat, and with tears streaming down her face, told me a fable I will never forget. In the vast deep regretful sea, there was a moving ridge. This totter was a young wave and did not care for much except for cruising done the water. One day, the young wave looked over the heads of the older waves in mien and saw them all crashing on the shore. He started to get frightened, until and older wave in front of him glowering around and said I get laid your trouble young one, you pass so much time world a wave. You forgot your just part of the ocean. Short Story hear -- Papers Short Story Two paper bags wrestle in the middle of the dusty road the weary and fading sun beats down on the onlookers, a cloud of smoke rose above them. Old men sit on small tables and played cards outside their family owned shops smiling politely at passers by. Old ladies walk steadily down the street, looking up to the heavens with contempt as it started to rain. An army of umbrellas stand to attention while their owners run as fast as their legs will allow them, down the sidewalk. The raindrops scream down like missiles released from a flying bomber, exploding into a thousand pieces on impact with the floor. The old men at their tables scramble for cover, their cards lay strewn across the playing surface. A man with a cigarette above his right ear and tattoos covering his bare arms bends over and turns up the volume on the stereo on the steps leading up to the front door, as though in a trance the group resting on the stairs all nod their heads to the beat. An attractive woman with swirling brown eyes and runs up the street with her coat over her chocolaty brown flowing hair, but stops in mid-step to turn around, the group, now standing under the door arch to escape the cascading rain, all turn their necks round to look down the bottom of the road. A tall sinister looking man with a hood covering his head rides a bicycle held together with bits of peeling sticky tape down the middle of the flooded road. Suddenly he slams on his rusted brakes and swings the bike round, so he can also look down the road. The b... ... I was allowed to attend my cousins funeral, even though I was in custody the whole time. But something was said at the funeral, which never left me. Carmella, in all black stood at the front of a group of large, well dressed Italians, all in a sombre mood. She cleared her throat, and with tears streaming down her face, told me a story I will never forget. In the vast deep blue sea, there was a wave. This wave was a young wave and did not care for much except for cruising through the water. One day, the young wave look ed over the heads of the older waves in front and saw them all crashing on the shore. He started to get frightened, until and older wave in front of him turned around and said I know your trouble young one, you spent so much time being a wave. You forgot your just part of the ocean.