Moment of Truth

On any given evening during the quintessential 1950s, shakers and movers of a very unsquare world could be found gathered at cocktail parties in sleek suburbia homes, ultra swank bachelor's pads, or mirrored lounge/living combos in "Anywhere, USA". While the libations flowed, those edgy revelers were trying out their well rehearsed and choreographed, goo goo eyed social moves on one another, intent on making an impression. Other party goers were working the room, culling for a new client or perhaps clinching a huge business deal the company execs had awaited for months.

Upon arrival, I made contact with the owner of the 141 Saloon who I know to be John Gruidl, bartender Charles “CR” Dobbs and CR’s girlfriend Elisheba Paraday. As I walked into the bar, John began to explain to me he could not find his keys this morning before leaving his residence. John advised he used a spare key he had at his residence to unlock the main bar door. John then showed me the door he discovered

It was my first day on the job with Lyric. I was moderately eager to meet him. When I first encounter new clients, I do not know what to expect. I became accustomed to walking into people’s homes blindfolded without expectations. I knocked before I entered Lyrics home at 8PM that Friday evening. I was greeted by the CNA that I was releasing off of her shift. I quickly noticed that the room’s atmosphere radiated an aura of coffee. The smell was quite pleasant and homey. I could distinguish the scent of the coffee beans mixed with vanilla. The CNA stood in front of me as she informed me that Lyric had a great day. I put on my warming smile as I introduced myself to Lyric. He smiled at me and told me hello. After the other CNA left, I provided Lyric with my company and began to get to know him better. Lyric lived in a two-bedroom, two-bathroom suite. The sight of his room was pretty welcoming. The beige curtains matched up well with the brown carpet of the apartment. I ran my hands along the silk curtains as I closed them. The curtains felt so soft and delicate as if they were made from the same material of my silk black gown in my room closet. I sat down on the chair next to Lyric’s recliner that he was sitting in. I watched him as he thought out loud about schedule for the next

Since he did not frequent bars and was not sure which one might be tolerable, on his walk home from work, he marched into the first watering hole he spotted in a strip mall. He hadn’t noticed the name of the place, but once inside, the dim light, tacky floors, and funk of stale beer made it clear this was not an upscale establishment, but it was too late to turn around. Besides, did it really matter where he swilled tequila?

There was an old “CRT” TV, like the type that had littered the shelves of my brother’s pawn shop, hitched up against the corner of the convenience store I had just walked into. Although the image was blurry, I recognized immediately what was showing. I placed the hood of my sweatshirt over my head and walked in, my hands stuffed in the two pockets on either side of the sweatshirt. I cursed the fact that the sweatshirt had the words “Donovan’s Fight Club” in big, decorative cursive letters on the back, embroidered by the lady down the street from the club. I grabbed the milk I had come in for and scooped up a bag of Skittles for Margie. Then I walked up to the counter, pulling out a wad of bills from my back pocket. The attendant, much to my

She states, “My body feels heavy; I am covered in all the necessary places to prevent injury” (Malico, p. 135). Instantly, the reader can envision the fighter with their head gear and boxing gloves on, standing in “the ring”, ready to fight (Malico, p. 135). Re-counting Malico’s thoughts, she looked over at her opponent,

“A Life Revealed” reveals more than just the identity of a lost woman after seventeen years, but the struggle of many under a religion-based government at odds with one another. Government is the highest level; a level that everyone else in the world can see and use to assume what the lives of its people endure day by day. But very few can see the struggle of the common man under this harsh power.

When they called my order, I forcefully took a sip of the Americano , lingering just to talk to him. Maybe it was his hair. Maybe it was his confidence despite the acne scars that riddled his forehead. Maybe it was the copy of Shooting An Elephant peaking out of his messenger bag. I muttered something about the latte being for my boss and turned to leave. Chris gave an effortless wave goodbye and I slipped out of the café, exchanging the cool interior for a flush of heavy, humid summer

People have appreciated his commitment and keenness during the challenge. BJ Penn conquered Florian right form the first round till the 3m 54sec score of 4th Round, it was here when his rear-naked stifle ended the matters.'BJ Penn’s game was flawless and perfect. This was confirmed by the 17,411 spectators who were glued to their seats till BJ Penn ultimately won. BJ Penn fans in the Wachovia Center viewed the entire match with great amusement and amazement. The audience was amazed to see the way Penn systematically faced and singled out each and every facet of his opponents- Florian’s fight preparation. Penn organized the standup with firm rights which counteracted his opponent’s 4 inch contact advantage thereby resulting in 2 opening round knockdowns. 'Penn was quite successful to stop and defend every takedown attempts from his challengers. And when these were put to the ground, Penn was still fresh, fit and fine with no sign of deterioration. Just like from past several years, his cardio was perfect and this really helped him to lead to capitulation hold. Penn was all set to fight and he actually wanted to maintain his title.

While working at the Stanford Barn, I came to know several of the steady customers. In particular, I befriended Mr. Da Mario; a distinguished attorney who worked in an office across the street. Like clockwork, Mr. Da Mario came into the restaurant every morning with a newspaper tucked under his arm, bought a cup of coffee from the Italian Food Counter, sat at the same table, acknowledged me with a nod of his head or a shout-out of “good morning” and then read his newspaper while he sipped his coffee. Occasionally, we shared a light, insignificant conversation before he left the

He walked into the quiet coffee house on Main Street, while I was there reading the classic How to Kill a Mockingbird when I saw him. Dressed in some dark washed jeans with a basic white T-shirt that went so utterly well with a creamy peach leather jacket he had on although a jet black color would have looked edgy. Meanwhile, his cologne was a strong Calvin Klein aroma that filled the coffee house and it smelt similar to the clean and fresh laundry detergent just with a bit of a manlier smell to it. It reminded me of walking into my brother’s room when I was a toddler. After I concluded my reminiscing, I noticed that he was swiftly making his way to the counter I noticed that the way his walk was off centered but balanced. While ordering

“Twweeeeetttt!” the whistle blow furiously and we were off. There was a quick glance into eachothers eyes and just 27 seconds later somebody was slugging off the mat in tears and let me just say it wasn't me. Although it was a tough match for him, I believe that he, along with his friends, had gained a new level of respect for me that day and will keep that for the rest of your life's.

Sighing, you asked the bartender for another drink, putting it on your friends tab, the least she could do was pay for your drinks. Turning in your seat to look at the tables around you filled with people, one table caught your attention. Adult men were seated around a man your age, he seemed confident, but bored, and you could tell by the large sum

As we approach Club Stang, I'm amazed by the length of patrons lined along the building, huddled together and shivering as they wait for entry. I press my nose against the window, while Alice leans against me to scrutinise the extending line. “Didn't Angelo sell New Year's Eve tickets weeks ago?” she asks.

My dad flipped his keys to the sharply dressed valet as if he’d done it a million times before. Although his 2004 Volvo in a line of BMWs, Lexus’, and Mercedes’ said otherwise. We entered a five star dining center, flashed our Lexus Club wristbands, and walked in as if we owned the place. I immediately felt underdressed in my khaki pants and Timberwolves shirt as many of the men there wore ties and some freshly pressed suit coates. The restaurant was dimly lit with black everything: black chairs, black tablecloths,