Mr. Stanhope's Removes-Personal Narrative

Sara’s arms ached from the heavy bag, full of manuscripts she must finish, as she stepped out from the office building and made her way to the company parking lot. Her earlobes tingled from the brisk evening air and buzzed from the loud noises of cars, as they spewed exhaust fumes and rushed down Seventh Avenue. She wondered where the hell were all of these people going at this time of the night.

At last, the bell finally rung, and I was headed home to get my gear. Hastily packing because lessons began at approximately 4:30, with about an hour drive. I hopped in the car next to Carolyn with minimal excitement. My nerves began to set in. I sat back and attempted to relax while we traveled past Delaware onto Earlville. Watching cars and fields pass by aided me to relieve some stress. I quickly forgot where I was going and why. Time flew by in that red Ford Escape. The trip from Manchester to Asbury seemed to only take fifteen minutes instead of forty five. We arrived far too soon, yet we were still late.

It was the last semester of eighth-grade year when Trinity Christian School had officially decided where my classmates and I should go for the end of the year mission trip. The whole eighth-grade class had been anticipating the announcement all year, and the location was finally named. It was New York, the city that never sleeps. While I was on the trip, I was able to see much of what the city had to offer. However, because it was an eighth-grade trip there were many limitations on the things we could see and participate in. Therefore, this would be the place I would go if I had one ticket in my hand. I would go to New York to experience the charm that flows through the city through the city.

It was the year 1922 and life hadn’t been this good in a while, times had taken a big change for the best. In Manhattan, New York, there were extravagant parties every weekend; the whole city shows up and doesn't leave until they see the sun. There was once this wealthy family living right in the middle of the roaring twenties. There was a mom, a dad, an older sister named Alice, and a younger sister named Anna. Alice loved to go to all of the huge parties, meet new people, and not come home until the morning. Every time Alice would get ready to go out for the night, Anna would watch her get ready as if she was picturing that was herself. Anna looked up at her sister and wanted to do everything she did. Alice had been talking about this party for a long time, and the night

The essay begins with a short description of the writer’s own experience when she arrived in New York, from the bustling in the crowded streets, to the impersonal existence in her apartment, as she knows none of her neighbors and can only speculate who they are and what they are doing by the sounds they’re making. She moves on to giving several examples of how New Yorkers react with apathy when in crowds, even when something utterly absurd happens, like a woman wearing only her bathrobe on the bus exclaims that she must have forgotten her token in

The car's wheels caress the highway lovingly. I forget the rumble of the cars behind for a moment, instead focusing on the insignificant touching of the wheels and ground. My sister sat at the wheel seemingly waiting for some kind of sign, waiting for me. She spoke, “Are you excited about moving back to Meetleburg?” As if, I am leaving behind all that I have worked for in the past four-teen years! I stayed silent to the dismay of my sister.

My knees shivered as I walked up the huge steps onto the bus. Millions of things were running through my mind; I was nervous. There was a loud chatter throughout the bus, but it wasn’t normal chatter. Everyone was on a light edge as we were all more than aware about what we were about to face. The bus pulled up into a familiar area. Elsternwick was busy and the sun was bright. I personally am always in Elsternwick and I never knew the museum was

It is easy to see the beginnings of things, and harder to see the ends. I can remember now, with a clarity that makes the nerves in the back of my neck constrict, when New York began for me, but I cannot lay my finger upon the moment it ended, can never cut through the ambiguities and second starts and broken resolves to the exact place on the page where the heroine is no longer as optimistic as she once was. When I first saw New York I was twenty, and it was summertime, and I got off a DC-7 at the old Idlewild temporary terminal in a new dress which

As I walked out of the airport into new territory, I could immediately feel the change in atmosphere. The air once chilled from morning dew, had turned into radiating heat from the cement and metal structures in the evening sun. As I looked out in my jeans and tee-shirt, I felt out of place. I was surrounded by the 8.55 million people who populate New York City. Each person with their own style and demeanour. As I walked down streets in search of the correct subway stop with my church group, everyone could tell that we were tourists. We were lugging our impossibly heavy suitcases through the streets, down the unforgiving stairs, and onto the crowded subway. After walking up and down what felt like hundreds of steps and changed subway trains

Iris looked at me with confusion as I held the doorknob of a shabby building, daring myself to twist it. The front wall stood out suspiciously against the almost clinical utopia that surrounded it for miles and miles - you look to the right, there were rolling green hills that in the past would have been called fake, and on the left, a glistening blue sea and tall as can be skyscrapers. Ten years ago, where we just were a few minutes ago, you'd never see any of this - it was a sleepy city with not much going for it, but it's all hustle and bustle now.

It's a nice, sunny New York day. The streets filled with people walking up and down the pavement, most pedestrian were rushing along to get to their jobs. As for Jeanne, she leans on a brick wall pulling down the hood of her cloak to reveal her face. It was her first time in years to come back and help MACUSA -- Magical Congress of the United States of America, but each time she tries to help with a case she gets in trouble and risk her father's job though it's now turning slightly common for them to see her. They never knew why she never just actually decide to work there when she did get an offer. She walks out of the alleyway and into the crowded street. Among the bustling crowds, Jeanne heard distant noise of shouting, intrigued by the

The sounds of the city penetrated the walls of the cab as we drove through the streets of Manhattan. I could hardly wait to partake in the action that was happening outside. The buildings themselves were an amazing site to behold. The buildings took on personalities of their own. Each building was bigger and more graceful than the next. When lights were added to the mix it was a dazzling combination. The city itself felt like a great big hug, and I felt overwhelmed by its power. The city allowed me to become part of it just like many others many years ago who immigrated to this awesome city. As I was looking out of the cab I finally got to see in person the sight of all sights; Times Square. The main juncture of

I hear the cars before I see them. Their honks add even more chaos to the never silent city, as they interrupt each other like impatient children arguing over a toy. But I love the chaos of New York. It reminded me of Bangalore, my old home; it almost puts me to sleep for chaos was my lullaby eons ago. My nostalgia washes away though, once I’ve taken a peek at the skyline. Waves of awe engulf me, as i take in the soaring skyscrapers glittering in the sunlight, and the orangey-pink water of the New York Harbor in the evening. The World Trade Center memorial catches my eye as i take in the world. I’m filled with chilly sorrow as the memories of the 9/11 memorial we visited earlier that day return to me. But now is not the tie to be somber. I

Smith walked slowly along, his boots hitting the wet cement of the sidewalk with a muted thud. He was not a large man, and walking where he was, surrounded by high-rise buildings that reached up to the sky and beyond, he looked small and insignificant. He wore an old trench-coat with grease stains running jaggedly down the front. The sun was bright on the slick-black wetness of the asphalt paving; his hair flopped over his tired eyes. He was carefully following a man, slipping easily in and out of the crowds of pedestrians, always keeping the man in front, in his sight at all times.

The road stretched and the lights flicked as Mr. Amberson made the routine pass through the secluded city of Westchester. Small houses that had not been maintained in what seemed like months lined both sides of the two lane road. His droopy eyes and long face were the result of another long day at work, which seemed to be more and more frequent as the years went by. As he fought to keep his eyes open and focused on the road he approached the “T” shaped crossroad that was located in the center of town.