Volkswagen Dialectical Journal

Satisfactory Essays
8 hours. Finally, over, of painstakingly mopping rugged floors of the crowded international terminal. Not how a regular 21-year-old woman should spend her time. Now, just cramming myself in my old Volkswagen and driving for hours under the dark and eerie atmosphere to a spine – chilling home ...

Finally, here. I check the time on my flip phone and its past midnight. This is not looking good. I’m feeling petrified and everything is shaking whilst continuing to move in the path of horror. My gut is telling me not to but I need to face this predominant fear of mine, and with that I suddenly pressed the metallic doorbell. Consequently, the double French doors creaked open. What have I done?

But I was surprisingly enlightened to see my aggrieved
Get Access