Creative Writing On Homelessness

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“Buzz, buzz, buzz...” My alarm seems to shout louder and louder as it fills my room. I take a deep, full breath as my eyes hit the darkness of the room. I slide out of bed, somewhat dreading the long day ahead. I look out my window; there’s nothing, nothing but black. My dad comes in file behind me as I make it down the stairs, just as he was leaving his room. We eat in near silence. A quick bowl of cereal, and then we go our separate ways. I slip on my shoes and get dressed. About twenty minutes later, my dad and I meet in the garage and enter his car. The drive is about forty minutes, but after so many times, it seems like ten. We listen to old hits and to soft rock while having a few little laughs. We pass mostly woods, office buildings, …show more content…

It is like a wasteland I would see on T.V. I am always surprised that I do not see a tumbleweed pass in front of the car as we pass. I open the car door and attempt to maneuver around the mystery puddle outside. Sadly, I clunk the heel of my shoe straight into the goopy mess. My dad and I walk through the huge, heavy doors and enter into the mall's entrance. My dad waves to all his friends that work the other shops. Once we arrive at my dad's store, he takes out his ring of keys. The clanging of the keys to the metal gate is as loud as a band marching through the streets, and so is the gate when it open. My dad hands me a vacuum and some Windex and informs me on my instructions. Off to work we went, he shining and repairing bag after bag of shoes, while I clean and smile as customers walk past. Many of them mention how I look just like my dad. After a few hours, I put on the black and yellow apron and safety glasses my dad had saved for me. I have been waiting for this moment forever: my dad was about to teach me the family …show more content…

“First things first, start up the brush wheel. Gently sand the polish stick with the wheel, and then we can begin.” My dad walks me through the steps of properly shining shoes. He adds, “A little spit can go a long way,” and other tips. After I finish my first two pairs, my dad leaves me to work by myself. We work hours on end at a time, only taking a few, short breaks to eat or use the restroom. We are a conveyer belt - he repairs the shoes, and I add the finishing touches. It is strenuous work. My dad gets back pains frequently, and I notice that my legs are about to give out. It is strenuous work. I wonder how my dad has done this for so long. I look over at my dad, who is sizing a sole on a shoe. He uses a coarse spinning wheel, which causes sparks to fly with the friction. It seems as if all time around me stops, and I fixate on these sparks. I can see my ancestors who also worked in this line of work, straining themselves all day long to make a living. They do it out of love for their families and a strive to support them. I look up at my father. He looks back and we have an exchange of grins. I see this love in my father. He works just like his predecessors. It might not be the most glamorous or healthy job for him, but he does it out of

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