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Descriptive narrative new york city
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It was a normal morning in New York City. People were starting to leave their apartments and getting ready for another busy Monday at work. Baldric White was walking down Columbus Avenue. He was wearing his ordinary black suit, nothing really fancy, but still classy. He was heading to work, and as always, decided to walk. He enjoys walking in this cold February weather, watching everybody go to work and continue with their busy lives. This particular morning, Baldric had gotten up early, he didn’t wanted to be late for work. He had being waiting for this day all of his live. He passed the local shops and took his normal route to work. The streets were still empty, which made his trajectory easier. He took a left on fifty-seventh street and then turned on fifty-eighth. He kept walking, until he reached Central Park south. Thats why Baldric loved working in the Podunk Times, the spectacular view from his office to the famous green grounds was simply priceless.
He reached the entrance of the ten story grey building. He pulled the door open and instantly smelled that warm freshly baked donut odor coming from the cafeteria. He took his coat off and headed for the elevator. He clicked the up button and waited for about thirty-seconds for the lift to arrive. Once he entered he clicked on the sixth floor, thats were most of the journalist like him worked. Finally the doors open and the familiar ding sound was heard. Baldric said hi to all his colleagues, but he wasn’t really paying attention to them, he was focused on something else. He kept walking and passed his office, he was heading to his boss, Bob Jackson, office. Once he got there, Baldric saw that he was sitting drinking his usual double shot expresso coffee, when he opened the ...
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...m sorry, we got really deep into our conversation,” said Baldric.
Alessandra snatched the car key from Baldric’s hand and gave him a flirtatious look and got in the car. Thats why Baldric loved her, there was something about her, something special that made her different from any other girl. Baldric got in the car and they left the mansion, heading towards his apartment.
Alessandra had being several times at Baldrics’ place. When they got there Baldric cooked dinner. He was a very good chef and had a wide knowledge on culinary arts. While he was doing this, Alessandra set the table. After several hours of cooking, they finally sat down and enjoyed the great stakes that Baldric had prepared. They chatted for a while. Talked about work, and how Alessandra was doing working in his fathers company. They talked about sports and drank some wine after finishing diner.
That summer he sweated from the humidity which in 1940 everyone in Brooklyn sweated from; then he sweated from the hot ovens at Carlo Amato’s pastry shop in Bensonhurst four or five nights a week; then he sweated from the hot ovens at a pastry shop Downtown every day of the week except on Sunday, when he usually slept until noon. From Downtown, Giovanni Vitale came home at the end of the workday on the BMT subway to his wife, Lisa, to their three kids Anna, Steve, and Johnny. After dinner they would all listen to the Philco. Then Giovanni and the eldest kid, Johnny, eleven, walked three long blocks and two short blocks, past the old people who fanned themselves on the stoops, to Carlo’s shop on Seventeenth Avenue (4).
The trip to Brooklyn didn’t turn out the way I expected this morning. I went back to Brooklyn looking for the life I had left when I went to college. My father, the Judge Albert Cohn of the New York State Supreme Court always wanted me to go away and find a life outside of Brooklyn. It meant a lot to him to have his only child to go out of Brooklyn and continue what he called his judge’s legacy. However, I always miss what I had left. Life for me has been a struggle since I became an aide for Senator Joseph McCarthy. I’m an American patriot and my job those days was to prove to the country that the State Department was full of communist infiltrators, but the Senator and I had become what the Communists and Liberals call "discredited." The Senator influence in the country’s politics had decline but my influence is still strong. I didn’t fade away as he did. I always wanted to walk the streets that I walked when I was a child one more time to reassure myself that the struggle had been worth it. I yearn when I’m alone to feel again the joy I felt when I walked by the big houses of Rugby Road on my way home after school. Walking those streets one more time, I wanted to feel Brooklyn the way it felt to me then. Like a magical kingdom. Like the Jews in the promise land after wandering in the desert for forty years. Time seems to stretch endlessly on those days; ten minutes felt more as an hour and summer felt like the whole year. Nevertheless, this time, it hadn’t worked out that way to me. The magic feeling that felt as a boy looking at those houses from the sidewalk was no longer there. It seems that my clock had stared working right again. A minute was a minute and an hour was sixty minutes as it was everywhere else. Tick, tick, tick... tick. I couldn’t stretch time again or at least not today.
Nothing compares to the hustle and bustle of the city at night. As you walk up and down the streets of any city, you make your way through a crowd that should be sleeping, walking to the beat of the subway below them. Each city is unique in the way it comes alive. The movement of the city is brought to life by Ann Petry in the novel, The Street. Petry uses strong imagery to show the bitterness of the cold wind and personification to bring the scraps of paper along the sidewalk of the city alive. The reader watches as the life of scraps of paper and wind blowing down alleyways connects Lutie Johnson to the city. Petry walks us with Lutie Johnson as she experiences a cold November night near seventh and eighth avenue.
The arrival to Manhattan was like an entry to a whole new world: from the sea, its breezes, color, and landscapes, to the heart of the city beating louder than ever at the Whitehall Terminal. I could smell New York’s bagels in Battery Park with a mixture of the most relaxing scents: the coffee people were holding while walking down the streets, the old walls of Castle Clinton ...
earlier and ventures out into New YorkCity. The story focused around thepeople he meets and the
Just look at the quote I gave you earlier: “Brooklyn, New York, as the undefined, hard-to–remember the shape of a stain.” He sees it as nothing but a stain on the map. He goes on to talk about “…the sludge at the bottom of the canal causes it to bubble.” Giving us something we can see, something we can hear because you can just imagine being near the canal and hearing the sludge bubble make their popping noises as the gas is released. He “The train sounds different – lighter, quieter—in the open air,” when it comes from underground and the sight he sees on the rooftops. Although some are negative, such as the sagging of roofs and graffiti, his tone towards the moment seems to be admiration. In the second section, he talks about the smells of Brooklyn and the taste of food. He’d talk about how his daughter compares the tastes of pizzas with her “…stern judgments of pizza. Low end… New Hampshire pizza. … In the middle… zoo pizza. …very top… two blocks from our house,” and different it was where he’d grown up. He talks about the immense amount of “smells in Brooklyn: Coffee, fingernail polish, eucalyptus…” and how other might hate it, but he enjoys it. In the same section, he describes how he enjoys the Brooklyn accent and the noise and smells that other people make on the streets and at the park across from his house. “Charcoal smoke drifts into the
Colson Whitehead explores this grand and complex city in his collection of essays The Colossus of New York. Whitehead writes about essential elements to New York life. His essays depict the city limits and everyday moments such as the morning and the subway, where “it is hard to escape the suspicion that your train just left... and if you had acted differently everything would be better” (“Subway” 49). Other essays are about more once in a while moments such as going to Central Park or the Port Authority. These divisions are subjective to each person. Some people come to New York and “after the long ride and the tiny brutalities... they enter the Port Authority,” but for others the Port Authority is a stop in their daily commute (“The Port Authority” 22).Nonetheless, each moment is a part of everyone’s life at some point. Many people live these moments together, experiencing similar situations. We have all been in the middle of that “where ...
...n running again. The traffic around him thinned as he closed the distance, and the street became desolate and broken. Dave looked around. He saw his office in the distance, and the bustling and busy street that he had left behind. Down the road in the opposite direction it was just as busy, but here, between the two thresholds of civilization, it was deserted. Dave starred at the lamp for a long while. It sat there, flickering, and nothing else. Finally he stepped in the light. It was immediately cold. The snow picked up and swirled about him in a frenzy. He gathered his jacket about him, and began shuffling toward his run down office. He was more tired than he had ever been, and he was glad that it was night again.
We were walking on the outskirts of summer lake, summer lake is a very friendly open area place. Sydney and I, the only one not wearing shoes, because shoes are for the weak. It was two in the morning and we were all wide awake so why not walk? “ My feet are killing me, we have been walking forever,” Ashley complained. “ Ash, you’re always complaining shut up already.” Kylie scoffed back at her. “ Both of you shut up were lost, anyone got phone service?” Alia said sounding very tired. “ Nope,” Ash, Syd, & Ky replied in unison. “ You're all lucky I do,” I sighed.Just as I said that the streets started to sound louder. Screeching noise of worn of tires against the road. Hearing all this we all became very aware of our surroundings. The maroon color was so dark you could barely see the car slowly
New York City is a fast pace city. People are rushing either to catch up with the next bus or for one appointment or the other. The streets are always crowded with people; every one seems to be in a state of pandemonium. One day, I was walking down the street with my f...
Standing on the balcony, I gazed at the darkened and starry sky above. Silence surrounded me as I took a glimpse at the deserted park before me. Memories bombarded my mind. As a young girl, the park was my favourite place to go. One cold winter’s night just like tonight as I looked upon the dark sky, I had decided to go for a walk. Wrapped up in my elegant scarlet red winter coat with gleaming black buttons descending down the front keeping away the winter chill. Wearing thick leggings as black as coal, leather boots lined with fur which kept my feet cozy.
Every day John travels into London but today was going to be a very different day he was flying to New York on a business trip to a meeting with all the top doctors in the world. The alarm did not go off and he overslept, he missed his train to the airport and had to get a later flight. As he settled into his seat on the Jumbo, the airhostess offered him a large black coffee. He read the papers and then closed his eyes. This afternoon was going to be the first meeting and he didn’t want to be tired.
It's dark out. The street remains quiet and the sounds of the city have faded. A woman walking down the street crosses, her heels thumping against the sidewalk. As she walks further into the night she feels a presence upon her. Suddenly the worries of the day have escaped her mind. All she can think about was the increasing echo of heavy footsteps behind her. Heart beating, she skips along the street, heels thumping with every step. She reaches a stoplight, and her heels come skidding to a stop. Her chest is aching and she's beginning to accept her fate, when, the man steps into the light with her. At first she looks away, praying that he won’t choose her as his next victim. As the seconds vanish, she decides to turn, to take a peek at the man breathing quietly beside her. Her brown hair whips around her shoulder and she clutches her handbag studying the man. It was difficult to make out his face in the poorly lit corner, but as she examined him she took note of his shiny blue eyes and light complexion. Without delay, her shoulders relax, and she releases the tight grip
We all remember these grey gloomy days filled with a feeling of despair that saddens the heart from top to bottom. Even though, there may be joy in one’s heart, the atmosphere turns the soul cold and inert. Autumn is the nest of this particular type of days despite its hidden beauty. The sun seems foreign, and the nights are darker than usual enveloped by a thrill that generates chills to travel through the spine leaving you with a feeling of insecurity. Nevertheless, the thinnest of light will always shine through the deepest darkness; in fact, darkness amplifies the beauty and intensity of a sparkle. There I found myself trapped within the four walls of my house, all alone, surrounded by the viscosity of this type of day. I could hear some horrifying voices going through my mind led by unappealing suicidal thought. Boredom had me encaged, completely at its mercy. I needed to go far away, and escape from this morbid house which was wearing me down to the grave. Hope was purely what I was seeking in the middle of the city. Outside, the air was heavy. No beautifully rounded clouds, nor sunrays where available to be admired through the thick grey coat formed by the mist embedded in the streets. Though, I felt quite relieved to notice that I was not alone to feel that emptiness inside myself as I was trying to engage merchant who shown similar “symptoms” of my condition. The atmosphere definitely had a contagious effect spreading through the hearts of every pedestrian that day. Very quickly, what seemed to be comforting me at first, turned out to be deepening me in solitude. In the city park, walking ahead of me, I saw a little boy who had long hair attached with a black bandana.
Upon arrival into the jungle of vast buildings, the first thing noticed is the mobbed streets filled with taxi cabs and cars going to and fro in numerous directions, with the scent of exhaust surfing through the air. As you progress deeper into the inner city and exit your vehicle, the aroma of the many restaurants passes through your nostrils and gives you a craving for a ?NY Hot Dog? sold by the street venders on the corner calling out your name. As you continue your journey you are passed by the ongoing flow of pedestrians talking on their cell phones and drinking a Starbucks while enjoying the city. The constant commotion of conversing voices rage up and down the streets as someone calls for a fast taxi. A mixed sound of various music styles all band together to form one wild tune.