With style
My hastily written description of a lady I passed on my way back from lunch today:
As I'm walking through the lobby there's this lady sitting near the fireplace with her Banana Republic camel-wool, belt extra-wide, Prada handbag, powerbook open on her lap and white iPod earbuds playing what is most likely some sort of Ivory Coast faux-blues jazz band into her unpierced ears.
She looked nice, very pretty, yet the amount of materialism represented by her wearable portfolio of brand awareness swiftly commuted her beauty into a catchpenny assortment of piecemeal self-confirmations, showing her very real fear of failure, such that she has become given to overcompensation in all aspects of her life.
I think my descriptive writing is getting better.
As I'm walking through the lobby there's this lady sitting near the fireplace with her Banana Republic camel-wool, belt extra-wide, Prada handbag, powerbook open on her lap and white iPod earbuds playing what is most likely some sort of Ivory Coast faux-blues jazz band into her unpierced ears.
She looked nice, very pretty, yet the amount of materialism represented by her wearable portfolio of brand awareness swiftly commuted her beauty into a catchpenny assortment of piecemeal self-confirmations, showing her very real fear of failure, such that she has become given to overcompensation in all aspects of her life.
I think my descriptive writing is getting better.