writing ex 2 character sketch
Culbert reached in his back pocket and proceed to wipe the beads of sweat from his aging, weathered forehead. Lucky for him his mom gave him monogrammed handkerchiefs for his birthday. She gave him three of them, and by the end of a hard day of cleaning tables and organizing sugar packets they were drenched. Culbert always wore two t-shirts, because only slobs have sweat stained shirts with their guts hanging out. His didn’t because he was a professional and carried himself quite well. Everyday he walked three miles to work preparing to be nauseated by the yucky smell of coffee. “Public transportation is bad for the environment,” he’d tell his coworkers when they’d tell him bus routes. Everyone on the bus is tall anyways, and his face always gets rubbed into people’s smelly armpits. “Just get a fucking bike, Kingsley,” the managing barista said everyday. But yesterday she told him flat out that if he were late for work again he’d be fucking fired, so today he had to hurry. Everyone at work talked like that, but not Culbert- he is a gentleman. He hated being called by his last name, he hated people who drank coffee, and he was deathly afraid that the people at work would find out that he never learned how to ride a bike.
“Oh well,” he told himself, “it wont be long until I open my gallery and sell my paintings for hundreds of dollars a piece!”. His paintings were of his snow-white cat Sophie, and Sophie was the only one who understood him and didn’t call him by his last name, which he hated even more than the mean old lady who smokes cigarettes right outside of his a/c intake. The barista even did him a nice favor by hanging a few paintings of Sophie around the store. People laughed at them just like he and Sophie laughed at Snoopy every single Sunday. It’s weird how art works. That jerk in the seersucker suit who managed the Payless next-door said they were nice and asked whose kid’s had painted them. What a buffoon! When his paintings make him rich he’s going to buy that Payless and hang them all over the store for everyone to admire while they try on shoes for promotions, graduations, and weddings!
“Kingsley,” the barista shouted as he darted in to work sweating feverishly not wanting to be reminded of that stupid bicycle he should buy, “you’re fucking fired”.
“Oh well,” he told himself, “it wont be long until I open my gallery and sell my paintings for hundreds of dollars a piece!”. His paintings were of his snow-white cat Sophie, and Sophie was the only one who understood him and didn’t call him by his last name, which he hated even more than the mean old lady who smokes cigarettes right outside of his a/c intake. The barista even did him a nice favor by hanging a few paintings of Sophie around the store. People laughed at them just like he and Sophie laughed at Snoopy every single Sunday. It’s weird how art works. That jerk in the seersucker suit who managed the Payless next-door said they were nice and asked whose kid’s had painted them. What a buffoon! When his paintings make him rich he’s going to buy that Payless and hang them all over the store for everyone to admire while they try on shoes for promotions, graduations, and weddings!
“Kingsley,” the barista shouted as he darted in to work sweating feverishly not wanting to be reminded of that stupid bicycle he should buy, “you’re fucking fired”.