(Consider this a more descriptive commentary to accompany the previous post, “Maturation.”)
At the risk of sounding cliché, my mind’s going a million miles a minute, and has been accelerating faster more recently. 400 more words
“What’s your zip code?”
I’d given the man my driver’s license, but must not have looked much like I had at sixteen.
It struck me odd; I had never before had to prove that my face was indeed the same one on the identification I’d provided. 166 more words
I had been quietly observing the man as he dragged his paintbrush in fluid movements, moving the purple paint in a circular motion on one corner of the page. 212 more words
In class, I mentioned how turning the topic of “making a sandwich” into an engaging narrative piece was difficult without making the writing come off as a high school freshman’s expository/demonstration speech. 173 more words
Instead of the satisfying “crackle” the knife would provoke when slicing through a loaf of sourdough bread or French roll, there is no such crunching sound as the bread knife shimmies through my thin, wheat pita pocket. 170 more words
Water conservation signs are planted on the yellowing, withered grass, bending just slightly to the slow, occasional breezes of the otherwise stagnant air.
The newspapers have been talking about “the worst drought in California’s history,” but I wonder if this is just one of those attention-grabbing catchphrases journalists sometimes use to attract readers. 189 more words
It’s quiet tonight in this little mom and pop-themed coffee shop nestled between Starbucks and a New York-style pizzeria.
The 50s rock music murmurs softly through the speakers in a sort of half-hearted attempt to set the mood for a Friday night, but to no avail. 342 more words