would never forget. There was almost an eerie feeling as soon as I had locked up the shop, I could feel someone staring at me from the building across. The dark presence of a slender man caught my eye in the dimly lit street, he didn’t dare to hide himself standing under the street light, face right at me. It was hard to make out his facial features from what seemed like scars and several stitches along his eye. As the fog rolled in and the cold wind whispered, I decided to walk home. Hazzy abandoned
noise of the TckTckTckTck sounding from just outside my window. I must have passed out at some point before dawn for when I awakened I found myself alone in the room and the sound outside the window was gone. So if you find yourself wandering by street lights upon a dark spring morning be flight of foot and sound of purpose should you ever hear the constant sound of TckTckTck.
The moonlight bounced off of every surface it touched. The street lights brightened up the path for the late night wanders.a 65' blue Chevy Pulls out of a dark alley. It runs through the streets of Boston towards a target that has no idea its coming. It drives past small town shops at 85 miles per hour, not noticing or caring about the stop lights or anything else it passes. The street lamps catch a glimpse at the driver as the car drives by. They see a person, but can't tell anyone what they look
Nomenclature of Belfast Streets I Belfast is Northern Ireland’s principal city and at times its centre of government. Its size and past prosperity can be attribute to its role as a major seaport in the former British Empire. In administrative terms at least the city remains “British” today. A clear result of its history is the present demographic pattern of the city and the nomenclature that accompanies it. I intend to discuss an aspect of this nomenclature — the names of Belfast streets, which are evocative
"I don't care much for the night," Dave said as he exited the office late one evening. It was a simple building, and older than most of the city. Dave's work relied on light and this building was so old that it couldn't be properly out fitted with power. The generator in the back hummed, sputtered, clanked to a halt as Dave switched it off, hoping to conserve as much gas as possible for the remainder of the week. He looked back at his old office building in dismay. He always thought it would be easier
dark-grey sky, rising above bbuildings ; tall and thin. One end of the city is filled with people, lights, clubs and pubs. The other side of the city is quite and dark. The fog seems to linger over the street, clutching the buildings, the streetlamps, the entire city, in a damp, icy grip. You can tell that winter is on its way. The buildings are camouflaged by the dark sky, shadowing the streets. The dark alleys, the big shops, the traffic jams, are all part of the jungle called St Johns Wood
reached its closure. People slowly started to leave, exchanging goodbyes with the host as they left. When few people remained, she noticed that other guests had either brought cars of their own, or arranged lifts home. Staring into the darkness of the street, she realised that she had forgotten to arrange a journey back to her apartment. Moments later when all guests had left, the host, noticing she was in a world of her own, tip-toed over. A quick click of his fingers snapped her out of the trance she
Mickey-mouse African Republic. He had taken the car across to Andrews Air Force Base the previous morning to prepare his airplane, which meant that she would have to take either a cab, or catch the Langley shuttle bus which picked up over on Tenth Street N; a few blocks to the north. Getting out of bed, she hit the bathroom, showered, and put on her make-up. She dressed in a sensible business suit and double-checked her briefcase to make sure she had everything she was likely to need for the day.
Roman City Planning The design and structure of a city is as important as the people who dwell within her walls. The placement of streets and the structures built there are carefully plotted for optimal use. Foot and cart traffic, fire hazard, and access to water were all key factors in city planning. Eventually the Romans had fine tuned their design principals in such an advantageous way that they molded all of their city states similarly. Rome developed from the combination of small farming
criminal, but none of them spoke a word. Like silent hunters, they lacked emotion and human traits, they're souless monsters that only cared about the law. The law which had now been passed due to the amount of crime and scum that had filled our streets with blood, is all their fault, but in they eyes of the government, its all of us. Those who potentially will become corrupt thugs and cause nothing but devostation and suffering through cruel ways. As they struck their authority where they stepped
Magritte created a series of works he titled The Empire of Lights also known as L’Empire des lumières or, The Dominion of Light in which Magritte uses the conflicting settings of day and night to create a wonderfully but unsettling feeling of confusion when first glancing upon the painting. He creates
Homestead Michigan. The almost florescent light of the moon bouncing off the fresh puddles that covered the ground. The grass and trees were covered in a thin layer of water causing every little beam of light to reflect back up. Anyone who may have been outside at this time would have without double, smelled the mix of fresh dirt and night crawlers. As the moonlight started to fade away through the cloud cover, three buses made there way through the streets and parked in front of HHS, the local high
To say Park Street was ordinary would have been an understatement. It was conventional, lacking even the slightest bit of interest to cause for contrast. A street you could walk down 20 times and still not be able to distinguish from the others. Imagine an almost stereotypical neighbourhood and then I’ve saved you a trip. The street was so typical that even the name of it was a commonity. So you can only imagine the appall when a murderer was born right in it’s midst. The street was awoken on a
Close by the giant textile mill row on row on row of drab terrace houses huddle together as if to fend off the bitter cold of a winter night in December of 1811. Night obscures the narrow streets of the industrial village of Holmeside as morning’s hesitant light pokes through the canopy of dismal clouds. Inside the mill, workers have been toiling for hours. They rose from their beds early and put on their work clothing. The lucky ones ate a crust of bread and drank the remains of yesterday’s milk
sun manges to peek its way through, causing a reflective white hue to light up the Canterlot streets. For most ponies, they squint their eyes from the bright reflectance, but Octavia is an exception. She is use being on the spot with lights blaring right into her eyes while she does her performances. It didn’t bother her. Octavia mopes her way through the streets releasing tears as she walk. The ponies walking along the streets give her glares of moderate concern. She stops her movement and looks
ones on my goggles. The wings catch the air as I glide over the chasm between buildings. I fiddle with the knobs on my chest plate, and my wings begin to flap, carrying me higher. Adrenaline rushes through my veins as I fly over the cobblestone streets of New Chicago. It's not the smoothest ride. The straps are digging into my pits as gravity takes its toll, and I'm struggling to keep my legs from dangling beneath me. I'll have to let Reia know. I shouldn't have tested them without her, but I was
The sheer white curtains billow in through the open window with the warm night air, like the sails of a ship setting off into the night. Lying in bed, I hear the buzz of a scooter whizzing through the streets, ironically followed by the rhythmic clip-clop of horseshoes meeting the cobblestone streets. It is our last night in Salzburg, Austria, and that moment embodies what makes this city appeal to me so much. Somehow, in the midst of the chaos of the twenty-first century, Salzburg has preserved many
Homeless - The Ignored Community As my friends and I were driving home from the mall the other afternoon, an older, disheveled-looking man was standing on the street corner holding a "I will work for food" sign. "He's just looking for easy money," commented one friend. While this is a possible reason, a more complicated one came to my mind. Perhaps this was a homeless man who had used up his time at the local shelter. Many people do not think homelessness is a problem, but the homeless
I grew up in a Waterford Michigan in a neighborhood called Waterford Meadows. The neighborhood consisted of middle-working class citizens, almost entirely Caucasian Americans, nuclear family households (domestic unit consisting of parents and their unmarried children), and the men were the breadwinners while the women homemakers. Today Waterford is a growing township; commercial buildings on every corner, new subdivisions, bigger roads, and high class dining restaurants. When I was a child, in the
A dark and dismal place like a ghost town not a soul stirring in the dead of night. You look around and see a shadow moving through the darkness of the streets. You turn but they're gone, an eerie feeling washes over you like a cloak. You feel coldness seeping through your bones chilling you to the core. This is what you feel like in Hallo Town, the skeletons hanging in the trees, the wind whispering through the town. Pumpkins burning and grinning at you with eyes and a mouth made of fire at every