Hitskin.com
Portal
One day I was in a writing mood and wrote a semi-black-humor piece. I think it's humourous because I purposely used a lot of descriptive language.
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Sitting in a Starbucks café, you sip your cappuccino---watching all of the college students on their laptops—the sweet smell of the ground coffee makes your eyes water with nostalgia of how easy life used to be. The roasting coffee sat in the air as a vexing reminder of how pathetic you have become to appreciate something so simple. You take a sip of your cappuccino— the black liquid violently burns your throat as it flows down the pink tissue of your stomach. You decide to leave and are waved goodbye from an acne-faced employee.
It was late afternoon; the faint sun barely visible from the foreshadowing clouds and was now minutes from disappearing from the horizon, creating a dreary gray sky. ‘’Where the **** is my car?’’, you growl. It is windy outside, an icy gust starts to blow your overcoat upwards, as you shudder from hail ricocheting off your eye sockets. Whilst wandering blindly through the parking lot, you bump into your 1978 Ford station wagon. The doors are unlocked, since there would be no one alive who would have attempted to steal such a wreck. The seat’s covers were ripped off and the odor of the car smelled of decaying fish and a McDonald’s restroom. Reluctantly, you climb in. You put the key into the ignition and after a series of sputters, the car finally starts up. The gear shift contained termites and a fake, rotting wood. With aggravation and disgust, you try to put your car into reverse, it shatters—your face showered with a cloud of dust and mold. You sit down dumbfounded, frantically checking your pockets for a cell phone whilst coughing and wheezing.
_______________________________________________________________
Sitting in a Starbucks café, you sip your cappuccino---watching all of the college students on their laptops—the sweet smell of the ground coffee makes your eyes water with nostalgia of how easy life used to be. The roasting coffee sat in the air as a vexing reminder of how pathetic you have become to appreciate something so simple. You take a sip of your cappuccino— the black liquid violently burns your throat as it flows down the pink tissue of your stomach. You decide to leave and are waved goodbye from an acne-faced employee.
It was late afternoon; the faint sun barely visible from the foreshadowing clouds and was now minutes from disappearing from the horizon, creating a dreary gray sky. ‘’Where the **** is my car?’’, you growl. It is windy outside, an icy gust starts to blow your overcoat upwards, as you shudder from hail ricocheting off your eye sockets. Whilst wandering blindly through the parking lot, you bump into your 1978 Ford station wagon. The doors are unlocked, since there would be no one alive who would have attempted to steal such a wreck. The seat’s covers were ripped off and the odor of the car smelled of decaying fish and a McDonald’s restroom. Reluctantly, you climb in. You put the key into the ignition and after a series of sputters, the car finally starts up. The gear shift contained termites and a fake, rotting wood. With aggravation and disgust, you try to put your car into reverse, it shatters—your face showered with a cloud of dust and mold. You sit down dumbfounded, frantically checking your pockets for a cell phone whilst coughing and wheezing.
