Descriptive Essay : A Day In The City

If the birds were chirping, no one would have known as the rumble of engines stuck in the heavy London traffic never seemed to cease. If there weren’t buildings blocking the view of the far off horizon, one standing at the apartment window would see the pinks and oranges that painted the sky with the rising sun. Instead, there was no more than a faint pink glow peeking out above the buildings, fading as it met a blanket of dull grey cloud.

Although through my inexperienced eyes, it is beautiful and quite peaceful in a way that stops time for a slight moment. I take a deep breath and the cold air just fills my body with a different life. There are these projects right behind my dorm and at all hours of the day I can hear laughter that the wind carried five stories up into my window penetrating my ears with the sound of innocence. Along with the bouncing of basketballs while they play on the court. There is this disgusting dump truck, which attracts all types of wildlife, right before the sun goes down you can hear the squawking of seagulls. Within the building, I can hear the diversity spread among the hundreds of students occupying Bowditch Hall. As they blast their music, their television, and argue on their phones. We have a large number of heavy walkers who seem to be stampeding right above my room like they are a herd of elephants, just before you drift to sleep.

My alarm rings, I push open the wooden window shaders to see the early commuters honking and speeding past. The smell of the street bakers and restaurants ready to open for the locals. I get ready to head outside for another busy yet wonderful day. I head outside. I see cars, mums taking their kids to school, elderly at the bakery buying this week's bread and many, many tourists flooding the streets. I feel the hot air on my skin as a light breeze passes by me and the hot sun covering me.

As it grew closer for me to head to work, I finished brushing my teeth and sculpting my hair as I always did. I grabbed my jacket, scarf, and mittens and tried to keep myself warm. I

The streets of Michigan Ave. were lined with people and their children as they hurriedly rush down the sidewalks. Taxis were beeping their horns, trying to get people’s attention, men and women were just getting off of work after a long day. The sky was a light blue and white puffy clouds were spotted in the sky, there was a light breeze in the air. The water under the bridge splashed lightly against the walls, it was hard to hear over the excited chatter of the people over top of the bridge. You could smell the smoke from the cars but also there was a faint smell of popcorn from a nearby popcorn vendor cart, shops and hotels filled in what the people and cars didn’t, it was truly a beautiful sight.

Flurries of snow whirled around me—melting on the pavement the instant they made contact. My hands trembled as I struggled to find some source of warmth, shoving shaky fingers into knitted gloves. I adjusted the purple wool scarf that snaked around my neck, concealing the black and blue contusions on my skin. I wrapped my pea coat tighter around my body and exhaled, watching a cloud of hot breath escape my chattering teeth.

Halsted Street, a very familiar name to me. My high school is located nearby the Halsted street in the South Union Ave, so I hear a lot of things about it. But never got a chance to visit it. It is the opposite directions to my home, so I have never been there during all my high school year. When I got there and start my own tour, it just brings me a really different feeling, like you really familiar it but actually you haven’t been there for once.

Here's the thing about about language: What isn't said can be as subtle as what is.

You can hear the vibration of car’s engines humming as you walk down the busy streets. Everyone is talking loud so they can be heard by the person next to them. Store merchants with artificial smiles on their faces are usually standing in their storefronts trying to convince people passing by to patronize with their business. Music is screaming in your ears, lights are flashing in your eyes from oncoming car headlights and nightclubs while running wind from the ocean’s shores plays in your hair and disorganizes your clothes like infant babies. No one seems to

It’s early morning. The bright sun permeating over top the sumptuous rolling hills that line the horizon. The sky is brilliantly colors of pink mixed with orange, kissing hues of bluish purples; stars twinkle as they fade into the backdrop of daybreak. The air is invigorating, she feels the brisk, cool sweetness with each breath taken in. The streets are desolate, empty, calm. The only sounds heard are the quiet chips and melodies of songbirds that live amongst the plush, green, leafy treetops, the jangle of a metal chain link leash, clink, clink, clank, the hushed whispering of her dog 's excited panting, sniffs along the slightly moist trail. Occasionally a car fleetingly zooms by,

Placing my hands on the cool railing, I wrapped my fingers around thick pool and gripped it tight. I felt my skin being glossed with a light breeze. Breathing out a satisfied sigh, I allowed my eyes to gaze over the partially illuminated city. A warmth in my chest brought a grin to my lips. The sun was low, radiating a soft orange glow that peaked behind the buildings so I could only see their silhouettes. A thought came to my mind. Where else am I gonna get a view like this? Boring Des Moines, Iowa? I needed to relocate myself. Here, maybe. I stood there until the shimmering beauty was going, going, going, gone.

As the glistening rays of the sun reflects its aureate light on the fresh coat of snow, a different breed of winter lovers awake. The smell of bacon sizzling on an iron skillet masks the air awaking all throughout the small cabin. As we gather around the old wooden table, smiles inform each other about what is about to happen. As we all bundle up for the frigid temperatures of the north, no one is afraid to suffer in the colder temps to look better than the others. The stiff molded boots form around my soft, delicate feet providing protection from any injury that may occur. In the act of zipping up our jackets, a feeling of excitement stimulates the atmosphere.

From the decaying brick rowhouses that line the streets to the massive cathedrals that dot the skyline, the city of Baltimore has provided great inspiration towards my interest in architecture.

It's 9:38 on a friday night. Steve just got off of work and is heading to the bar. Steve arrived and headed to the same spot he has been going for years, but before he set down he seen this girl walked by and stopped. She went back to her spot and sat down next to 3 of her friends. Steve sat down next to them and said “may i buy you ladies some drinks?” They just looked at hom for a moment a silence steve thought to himself that this was a bad idea. “We would love to have a drink with you.” Steve gets up to get the drinks And thinks to himself that “This is going really well.” Steve gets back with the drinks and the ladies were just...gone. Steve walks out of the bar expecting to see the ladies but there were none. Steve frustrated decided to call it a night. Steve gets in his 67 Impala revs the engine up and heads home. The next day steve wakes up, grabs breakfast, and decides he is going to hop on a plane and go to a random island. He gets on a plane and sets off to wherever. Steve takes a nap and all the sudden everything is happening so fast BOOM! Steve wakes up seeing blood everywhere and it kicks in, he just endured a plane crash. Blood is everywhere steve is trying to call out but there is no one there. He manages to get up and see people everywhere but none are conscious. Steve realized this means he has to survive by himself. He started searching through people's pockets and their luggage. He didn't find much some food in the back, and a little bit of cash. It was

I pulled up to the only traffic light in town in a hand-me-down Buick from my grandparents, listening to some old tape that was left behind in the glove compartment. The hum of the song filled the car and poured out the windows to the desolate streets around me. It seemed as if I was able to listen to the entire song before the light changed and not a single car had crossed my path. It didn't always seem this small, There was a point in time where the town's winding dirt roads lead only to adventure and I was satisfied with the distance at which my bike could take me. I remember one time when I was about twelve years old, I set off at about noon with my neighbor which I had known from birth with the idea of mapping out our whole town. My mother called out “Be home before dusk” as we grabbed our bikes and set off on that days mission. Within two hours, we had outlined the entire border of our town and recorded all the important landmarks from the hardware store on main street where we could buy little candies for only a penny, to the house we thought to be haunted on Church Street. That's how small my town was.