Chapter one - the start of something new The night way cold and rainy, no moon was present. As people walked down the street never once looking up, eyes glued to their phones with an infinite amount of apps, infinite wasted time. The buildings were tall, concrete on the north side of the city, offices and high rises for business men and the wealthy. To the south were old brick buildings, a historic downtown from the original city, narrow streets and no stop lights. The contrast was incredible, in the north was the present, in the south was like something out of a Noir film. In the west was the docks, they had never changed, wooden structures reaching out and large filled dry docks. The city was always busy with trade, imports exports, everything …show more content…
was constantly moving all to get to the main highway in the east that headed clear past the mountains through the fields and country all the way to infinity. The highway had no end. All this meets in the heart of the city, where old meets new, where the highway begins in a large open square with only three roads looping around a park and into the highway. The county homes that border an empty field stretching to the edge of town, they feel like they are on the edge of the world. No matter where he goes it’s always the same, the same overcast sky, the same cold morning, the same dark night. He is none other than another identical face to all the rest, does it matter if you know him? I suppose you should, Jack McGuire is the newest addition to this lonely city on the edge of the world, or maybe it’s a lonely world on the edge of a city. He saved up a hefty sum of 10,000 $ to move here, into the south in an eight story brick building built in the twenties. One bedroom one bathroom one office, which connects to the hallway. The walls are built solid, that’s why the things lasted so long. Here in one of the poorest parts of the city he thought would be his paradise, why ? Even I couldn’t tell you that, and neither could he. “Yeah, I don’t know what it is with the people here, everything comes from the docks and there’s always work there, I’ve had no trouble finding a job but it’s the people” Said McGuire “Have you tried using those apps, everyone’s on their damn phones these days, you’d have more luck getting connections that way” said his brother. “Maybe you’re right… I gotta get going now or I’ll be late, the boss chewed me out real bad the first time, said he’d fire me if it happened again” “Alright I guess I’ll hear from you soon then ?” “Yeah you got it” McGuire worked at the docks, he had just finished his phone call a few blocks from the main building where all the employee’s met to get their assignments and have lunch. When he went inside he sat next to his partner at the benches. The man was 6’ 5’’ and 200 pounds, his name was walsh. He was the only remotely friendly person he’d met since he arrived. “Alright who’s getting fired today, McGuire ?” “Over here” Without missing a beat the “foreman” continued. That's what he was known as due to his brash attitude and habit of assigning work to others and criticizing them with a cup of coffee in hand, you might think it was an extension of him as he was almost never seen without it. “We have three ships that need unloading, no one leaves until it’s done” What a friendly superior, with these few words he left to refill his cup as the rest of the men switched boots and went out to the dock. It was nothing but hard work, Their division did not operate the cranes, they carried heavy chains and attached them to the crates while someone else (who made more cash than them just to sit in a chair and move levers) would move the crane near, wait for them to attach the chains to the crane and then when signalled, move the crate. This was done hundreds of times every night and every morning. After all the crates had been moved the ship would leave to another dock to get provisions and supplies as well as fuel. McGuire’s division was also tasked with moving the crates onto the underground train that would ship the supplies to a warehouse to be packaged onto trucks to be sent out of the city. It was hard work with little pay. Every day it seem the same. As Mcguire was on top of one of the crates fastening chains to the top he heard walsh call to him “Hey, there a crate just to heavy for me to move over on the stern, I could use a hand” “Sure no problem” When the two headed to the back they noticed a group go with them. “Hey, we got the crate back there, you just keep doing what you're doing” one of the called out “I'm already moving, i got it” said McGuire Walsh put his hand on McGuire's shoulder and stopped him “that's a bad idea, I don't like the look of them” McGuire remembered the group, this city had always been so clique-ish, everyone knew their place and their allies already. “Ok, but I want to see what they do” said McGuire “Not worth it, let's leave” The two left to continue work, the group wasn’t seen at the docks for the rest of the day, they left their work boots and switched into walking boot, they didn’t even catch lunch break or the “foreman’s” assessment of their work accomplished. Chapter two-Docks It was late one night, the routine was always the same as before. McGuire was at the stern of a ship waiting for the crane operator to catch up. He sat there alone, Walsh was not with him. He was gazing at the city, thinking. If only he had been given a better education, or if he knew the right people then he could have gotten a nice office job in some high rise on the north side. Instead he sat here working himself to death near the salt dark waters of the ocean which seemed to absorb anything they touched and leave nothing behind. As he was watching some of the buildings he saw a light on in an apartment, there was a man with his back to the edge of the window being held by other masked persons. He was another victim of the home invasions that were not reported on the news even though they were in truth rapant in this city. McGuire felt like he should help the man, but there was nothing he could do to help anyone with 100 meters between them. McGuire sat and watched to see if the victim would make the right move, just do what they say he thought, then they’ll leave you alone. At that moment the victim was shot in the head, everyone could hear the gunshot. No one screamed, several more shots followed from inside the house. McGuire quickly pulled out his phone, “911 I have an emergency, im at the docks, near south west Engels street, I just saw a murder in a apartment” “Im sorry sir, but all of our officers are busy at the moment, we will get back to you as soon as we can” “hey I need someone over here now!” The phone beeped. The police had hung up. McGuire had waited five hours before he got a call back. McGuire threw his phone into the ocean, he punched a nearby steel container as hard as he could. Nice, i didn’t need knuckles anyways, he thought. McGuire realized at that moment that he had not moved into his dream city, but he had moved into a city full of trash,corruption and evil. The man in the window had held his hands up, he hadn’t done anything wrong. How was he supposed to be safe ? Just then the “foreman” announced over the speaker system that it was the end of their shift, 3 Am in the morning and he knew that the work would have to be carried over into the next night. A few minutes later McGuire made his way towards Walsh at the entrance to the docks by the road where he was waiting the bus. “Hey I gotta talk to you, now” “you sound worried, if you broke something the foreman won't be a stickler over it, he knows as well as the rest of us that those chains aren’t up to code” “no, Someone just got shot”......... ”okay, that happens all the time here, just part of city life” “no you don’t understand” “did the shooter see you?” “no, i don't know, maybe, i don’t think so” ”If he didnt see you you're fine, don't let it get to you, this happens every week, go home, get some sleep and try not to bother anyone” McGuire was shocked as he had never witnessed anything of that nature in his life. What could he do ? what could anyone do ? how had this happened ? How did that person's decisions bring this upon him ? Did his decisions really bring it on him ? McGuire left for home, he could not shake these thoughts from his head. When he had been planning his move he never heard of anything of this nature happening, ever. He knew when he walked into his apartment that he had to take steps to keep himself safe, but what could he do ? He made a commitment to himself that at the end of the week he would use his weekend to find a solution, right now he was too tired to think clearly, he knew he couldn’t come to any resolution. Chapter three-The beginning of the end The weekend had arrived, McGuire had finally calmed down and thought on the subject.
There was bear mace which would work well on any animals, they sell it for cheap at sporting stores. There was a martial arts dojo in the north and a boxing gym in the south. Perhaps a more practical and quicker option was located near his place, at the docks a fight club was ran, bare knuckles and no weapons. It was a tough option and McGuire didn’t want to be pounded on for weeks while pulling 12 hour shifts but he was still afraid from what he had seen earlier that week. He had decided that bear mace would be the best readily available option and was walking down a street in the south to the supermarket. As he walked down the street he noticed a group of three men walking his way, they were taking up the whole sidewalk. McGuire decided that he would walk in the street to avoid them rather than cause an issue, when he looked behind himself to check for any cars he saw one driving on the shoulder of the road 30 feet behind him. The car had its brights on. Mcguire’s hope dropped as he realized what was happening, there was no one else on the sidewalk, but several cars in the street. He knew no one would help him. He remembered an alley way he had passed a few minutes ago, he turned around and briskly walked toward it. The car on the shoulder of the road stopped and sevral men got out. McGuire started running to make it into the alley, he knew that being in a public space would not save him, he figured that making a run for it would. When he turned down the alley way he did not come to a stop, 50 meters into it the alley took a turn into a open area where several apartment balkonies overlooked a stone circle with a gated entrance leading into another alley. McGuire had reached the end of the line, he turned around and saw seven men in large coats with hoods up masking the majority of theire faces. They were all wearing malaklovas, when spoke in a familiar
voice.
A MP who preformed mouth-to-mouth resuscitation revived Dr. MacDonald. He told the police he and his wife stayed up drinking some orange liquor. She went to bed and he stayed up to finish watching the Johnny Carson show. MacDonald fell asleep on the sofa. He was awakened by screams of his wife and daughters. MacDonald claimed that three men standing over the sofa started to attack him with a bladed weapon and a baseball bat. He identified the person holding the bat as a black man with an army jacket with E-6 stripes and two white men, one carrying the bladed weapon. Before he was knocked unconscious he said that there was a lady in the back with a large floppy hat, holding a candle and was saying “acid is groovy” and “kill the pigs.”
History textbooks seem to always focus on the advancements of civilization, often ignoring the humble beginnings in which these achievements derive. How the Other Half Lives by journalist-photographer Jacob A. Riis explores the streets of New York, using “muck-racking” to expose just how “the other half lives,” aside from the upbeat, rich, and flapper-girl filled nights so stereotypical to New York City in the 1800s. During this time, immigrants from all over the world flooded to the new-born city, bright-eyed and expecting new opportunities; little did they know, almost all of them will spend their lives in financial struggle, poverty, and crowded, disease-ridden tenements. Jacob A. Riis will photograph this poverty in How the Other Half Lives, hoping to bring awareness to the other half of New York.
“one of those cross streets peculiar to Western cities, situated in the heart of the residence quarter, but occupied by small trades people who lived in the rooms above their shops. There were corner drug stores with huge jars of red, yellow and green liquids in their windows, very brave and gay; stationers’ stores, where illustrated weeklies were tacked upon bulletin boards; barber shops with cigar stands in their vestibules; sad-looking plumbers; offices; cheap restaurants, in whose windows one saw piles of unopened oysters weighted down by cubes of ice, and china pigs and cows knee deep in layers of white beans.”
... who settled on Manhattan’s Lower East Side, where we could see packs of books telling the stories and experiences of past immigrants. I felt the rush and the excitement that characterize the city, but I also couldn’t get enough of the multiple cultures in New York. One would spend days and weeks in the “City that Never Sleeps” but still, it would take many more to truly experience every aspect of it or understand how the diverse ethnicities were able to survive and succeed there.
Nothing compares to the hustle and bustle of the city at night. As you walk up and down the streets of any city, you make your way through a crowd that should be sleeping, walking to the beat of the subway below them. Each city is unique in the way it comes alive. The movement of the city is brought to life by Ann Petry in the novel, The Street. Petry uses strong imagery to show the bitterness of the cold wind and personification to bring the scraps of paper along the sidewalk of the city alive. The reader watches as the life of scraps of paper and wind blowing down alleyways connects Lutie Johnson to the city. Petry walks us with Lutie Johnson as she experiences a cold November night near seventh and eighth avenue.
“This town is full of Tabasco.” This is just one of the ways the author describes the city full of debauchery and degeneracy, New Orleans. But be mistaken, The author Elton Glaser loves the city so much that he believes a the only way to live is the New Orleans lifestyle. This consists of spending sunday in the pews and riots and parties in the street. Even your own funeral is a party you don't wanna miss as a parade of bells, trumpets, and drums travel down the street, shaking the ground. People in New Orleans are carefree and enjoy all of life’s amenities. No where else can you truly experience the extremity of life except for New Orleans.
Growing up as an only child I made out pretty well. You almost can’t help but be spoiled by your parents in some way. And I must admit that I enjoyed it; my own room, T.V., computer, stereo, all the material possessions that I had. But there was one event in my life that would change the way that I looked at these things and realized that you can’t take these things for granted and that’s not what life is about.
A calm crisp breeze circled my body as I sat emerged in my thoughts, hopes, and memories. The rough bark on which I sat reminded me of the rough road many people have traveled, only to end with something no one in human form can contemplate.
Upon arrival into the jungle of vast buildings, the first thing noticed is the mobbed streets filled with taxi cabs and cars going to and fro in numerous directions, with the scent of exhaust surfing through the air. As you progress deeper into the inner city and exit your vehicle, the aroma of the many restaurants passes through your nostrils and gives you a craving for a ?NY Hot Dog? sold by the street venders on the corner calling out your name. As you continue your journey you are passed by the ongoing flow of pedestrians talking on their cell phones and drinking a Starbucks while enjoying the city. The constant commotion of conversing voices rage up and down the streets as someone calls for a fast taxi. A mixed sound of various music styles all band together to form one wild tune.
Personal Narrative There lay her limp body staring up at us. Her cold eyes were no longer
Do you have a interesting story about something that has happened to you? Well, I sure have one. This event may be enjoyable for you, but it definitely was not for me! This event is the most scary thing that has happened to me. I never thought this scary incident would give me a good lesson.
“Raise your hand if you’ve ever been through a hard time,” Nick announced during the
Cold water splashed against my face, forcing me back into the present. I gasped for air, filling my lungs which meant I was still alive. I looked around me to find I was lying on my back, on the floor, in the hotel room Brian had brought me to. Detective Donovan was standing over me with an empty glass of water in her hand and no gun. If I stood a chance to save myself, the time was now.
On a humid afternoon, I remember sitting on that old renovated school bus, wearing denim shorts and an old tee, completely soaked in mucky water from head to toe. When my mom told me about the weeklong adventure camp that was completely free for military dependent kids, I suppose I was unprepared for the level of adventuring in store. With her dad stationed in Alaska, my best friend Yarish also came with me to Clemson, South Carolina where it was held in July 2012.
rushing through my veins, I have never been this excited, it like I woke up with all the money in