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He has a faded blue blazer, soiled baggy jeans, a large belly jutting out from beneath the shelter of his soft fleece blanket, the one draped over his slouching shoulders, the color of dried mangos. In his frozen, shaky hands he clutchse a sign of cardboard that is beginning to disintegrate from the snow and the torrential rain. Will work for food. Please help. God bless.
The man's precious winter cap is placed on the ground beside him. Seven quarters, twelve nickels, and three dollar bills dally in the frosty haven of the cap and its once-soft wool lining. The money is invisible to passing strangers underneath the layers of frost and snow. Most of the strangers stare at the icy sidewalk with sudden fascination as they are passing the guy in the blazer and the weird orange blanket with the look of profound sorrow on his face. He gazes at each one steadily as they approach and hurry past him, mostly averting their eyes.
But there is always the rare encounter. This morning he was given a granola bar by a pretty little college student on her way to class. Her hair, red like early morning sunrays, reminded of him of his daughter's, and maybe that's why tears welled up in his eyes as he saw her approaching. He'd taken so much pleasure in shoving that granola bar down his throat, practically feeling the nourishment as it slid into his stomach, the dried fruit and chocolate coating on his tongue. However, even his hunger did not surpass his desperation for vodka. He would have killed - no, maybe not, he was far too sensitive, he'd never even had the stomach to stomp on a spider scuttling across the pavement - to sip a bit, just a tiny bit, of the magical drink he relied on.
He recalls the fateful day he had been thrown out by his second wife like he was a piece of garbage to be tossed away or a pest to be rid of. "Go," she had told him. "Get out. I don't want to see your face here ever again, you f***ing drunk."
Her words had stung him again and again, a thousand hornets stuck in the trap that was his heart, as he'd grabbed a bag of clothes and other necessities - including his precious bottle of vodka of course - and slammed the door of their aging smelly condo one final time.





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whatshername said...
Sept. 26, 2010 at 5:46 pm
this is good, but something seems off...i usually can figure it out but im tired sorry
 
Samantha.07 said...
Sept. 25, 2010 at 8:23 pm

Hello! Figured I respond to one of your articles, because you did for one of mine :)

 

I think the first sentence is a little hard to follow. The description is nice, but maybe cut it into two separate sentences. Not all sentences have to be long and heavy with description, as most of these are. You probably have heard the phrase "less is more". It's really hard to do that sometimes, taking your piece and only sing words you need. I read in a writer's book that once you've ... (more »)

 
starxoxo23 replied...
Sept. 26, 2010 at 7:50 am
Thanks sooo much! This was really helpful. You have some great points and I'll work on improving it with your suggestions (:
 
Samantha.07 replied...
Sept. 26, 2010 at 8:31 am
My pleasure!
 
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