fmcdonald
Tan trenchcoat? Check. Battered fedora? Check. Gadgets galore? Check. I guess I'm ready for Halloween. Now if only my limbs really stretched like that...
Softly strumming his dreadnaught accoustic, David began to quietly sing about loss and uncertainty. Larry knew his brother was singing about Lauren, but that didn't take anything away from the haunting melody or the sadness that settled over the coffee house.
Eamon sat back on the bar bench and reached for his ale tankard. Now that his lute was strung, he was ready to earn his dinner and a dry, warm place to sleep. He looked forward to it.
Standing on the corner, the young boy tugged his cabbie hat out of his eyes and again called out the day's headlines. His hawking on the corner made him as much as 30 cents a day.
The aroma from the warm wheat bread made my mouth water. Taking a bite, I felt the soft swiss cheese melt between the ham and the turkey.
The tail streaming behind it, my dragon kite flight caught an updraft between the smoke-stained brick chimneys in the alley behind my apartment building. The kite soared up until it got tangled with the clothes line from Mrs. Johnson's kitchen window ledge.