St. Louis Narrative

She had just turned over the supper steaks when the telephone rang. She picked up the receiver. “Hello?” “Mrs. Lewis?”

“Has your energy depleted Bridgette?” Amiable, despite the apparent lack of care he was affording either her or her visage, his thumb trailing across one of the faces blinking up at him from that page. Rubbed half-semi-circle into that image, lips pressed together with a fondness that didn't translate properly onto his features. “Should you prefer, at any point, we can further discuss things- your conversation has always been anything but engaging darling, perhaps you'd rather conserve your strength for the latter?” Was a slow swivel, his nail pressing into the very center of that face, eyebrows just barely lifted as to the conversation he was verbally carrying out, that 'no' just near beneath the decibel needed for the utterance at all. Paused, in his own reply, slow roll of his eyes upwards to that back that was presented him- whisper of something behind that reflection of his eyes just before she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. [I] “No sir.”[/i] Better- tap of his fingers against his table his only response as his gaze fell once more- that barely recognized rip within those pages from where that crescent shaped nail had dug into it... irritated, that flick of the paper over, face now covered

While roaming the streets of an impoverished section of Chicago one night, he stumbles upon a young woman (179). As he was walking at six foot, two inches tall, broad, a beard, and both hands in the pockets of a military jacket, the young woman immediately became uneasy. She began to pick up her pace, and not long

Uneven in shape, his derby cap rests upon his head at a point, only identified by his distinct suspenders and coat. Air lightens his loose jeans, which appear to fix like an inflatable bunch at his lower legs, where his larger than usual shoes oblige his feet to point outward, making him waddle when he strolls. Adjusting himself, he conveys a bamboo stick that holds his stance. Looking as if the once sweet life cruised him by, his clothing is worn out and his eyes dim, however, his mustache is short and trimmed, and his air is consistently polite. But, his high conduct is hitched with a freed feeling of opportunity and severance, dislodging him as an outcast dependent just on his most human impulses.

The Blues were one of the six teams added to the NHL in the 1967 expansion, along with the Minnesota North Stars, Los Angeles Kings, Philadelphia Flyers, Pittsburgh Penguins and California Seals.

He hated the crowdedness of the city, yet he stayed as it was all he had ever known. As he dodged away from one person, he accidentally smacked into a large man. “Watch where yer goin!” Stanley yelled as he stumbled to the ground. As the man walked away, Stanley found himself at eye level on his hands and knees with a homeless man sitting against a building. “Are you ok?” the man asked. “Whadda you care?” Stanley questioned, not used to anyone offering to help him on their own. Stanley's face grew as red as his t-shirt as he struggled to get up. By the time he was back on his feet, he was panting and wheezing. “Are you sure you don’t need a hand?” The man asked. “No,” he replied. “Could you spare a dollar?” the man asked. “No,” Stanley replied without hesitation. “Lazy bastards like you are why everyone calls this city dirty. Why don’t you go do everyone a favor and hide yourself in an alley?” he said before spitting on the ground next to

It seemed just like yesterday, back in the glory days. Back then, nearly two decades ago, life in the Saint Louis area was perfect. Unlike today where Saint Louis is known for its crime and violence, years ago conditions were different, the talk of the town used to be about the Cardinals baseball team, they were once the pride and joy of the city. Constantly in the news after win after win. For example, on this particular day on September 8th, 1998, a night that no Cardinal fan would dare to forget, marks a historic day that is best remembered for being a celebration. What started off like any other ordinary day, turned into an overwhelming thrill of excitement. On this day, Mark McGwire broke the home run record. Who would 've thought

“Hey, Loren,” Danny spoke on the line, “Come here.” She stood in the middle of the hanging photos. Her brow was crumpled, teeth worrying her bottom lip. The picture in front of her caused her stress. Loren came in, noticing the way she stared at one picture. He looked at it, seeing past the dead body. The sheer amount of blood made him nauseous. He liked to pay attention

He said he would call Mandy. Her voice is stuck in his head, pleading him to call when he’s sober. He groans softly.

Instinctively, Kate reached into her jacket pocket and read the message on her phone, informing her that her phone had only enough battery life to make one call. Immedialtely, Kate knew who that call would go to, she dialed the numbers praying that they would pick up...

louis' heart was beating at an unexplainable speed as he walked to the right of the elevator to room 209. when the replacement arrived louis went back to his usual job in cleaning rooms. his shift is done but that doesn't mean he's going to change and leave the hotel when a hot man is waiting for him.

“See here, sonny, you woke me up. Do you know what time it is? You said you need help, but you seem the type that can help himself.” She continued to give him a hard stare.

He went to the bathroom which smelled of steam but felt relaxing and peaceful as soon as he stepped inside. He took his clothes off but kept hold of the letter and his favorite picture of her that sat in front of the

Phillip’s piercing blue eyes stared back at him from his bathroom mirror. He studied his unshaven face and careless physique, and eventually began plucking the graying hairs from his breast and dropping them one by one into the sink. A silent apartment surrounded him, all but the street noise of the locals and trust funders of Bushwick below. He peered down to the sea of hairs from weeks of plucking and itched his red, irritated chest before quickly shuffling to the closet of his apartment. He weaved naked through the clutter of cheap vodka bottles and cigarette butts, whizzing by the takeout pizza boxes piled high on the flower upholstered sofa. He brushed by old photographs of distance, nameless relatives

“Dude, what are you gonna give your kid for the Happy Hours?” Asked Wilfred as he scrubbed against the dirty dishes, bubbles threatening to spill over the sink. A long sigh left the other followed by a groan and a scratch at their collar, “I don’t know, they’ve been asking for nothing and say it’s okay, but it’s not!” A sudden shock coursed through him and heavy breathing followed suit. Wilfred stopped washing and tried comforting the other without wetting his shirt too badly.