Beginning Writer's Workshop: Lesson 4
Third Person Limited
Past
Moderate
The 54 from Aberdane pulled into the bus station, windows wet from snow. They were fogged from the passengers on the inside, giving them a blurred soft appearance. Martha clutched her purse in her gloved fingers, pulling it tightly to her chest in an attempt to steel her from the cold. As she exhailed into the cold air, she watched the small cloud leave her lips. The doors of the 54 opened and John, her ex, stepped off. He carried a brown wool overcoat and a large battered black suitcase.
"Hello Martha," he said with a slight smile. "It's been a while."
"Hello John." Martha absently fumbled with her purse, she stepped up close to him, wrapping her arms around his frame. She could smell the faint hint of his colongue--Old Spice. With a brief pause, she withdrew. "It has."
John hefted the suitcase, "Thanks for meeting me here." He signed. "How is Sammy handling your Mother's death?" The bus unloaded, spilling passangers into the small bus terminal.
Past
Moderate
The 54 from Aberdane pulled into the bus station, windows wet from snow. They were fogged from the passengers on the inside, giving them a blurred soft appearance. Martha clutched her purse in her gloved fingers, pulling it tightly to her chest in an attempt to steel her from the cold. As she exhailed into the cold air, she watched the small cloud leave her lips. The doors of the 54 opened and John, her ex, stepped off. He carried a brown wool overcoat and a large battered black suitcase.
"Hello Martha," he said with a slight smile. "It's been a while."
"Hello John." Martha absently fumbled with her purse, she stepped up close to him, wrapping her arms around his frame. She could smell the faint hint of his colongue--Old Spice. With a brief pause, she withdrew. "It has."
John hefted the suitcase, "Thanks for meeting me here." He signed. "How is Sammy handling your Mother's death?" The bus unloaded, spilling passangers into the small bus terminal.