Halfway There

Half track There Halfway There People. Droves of them, hustling off to their official gates with seventeen suitcases strapped to themselves like pack mules. All scowling, furrowing their brows. Hoping to tatty to where they want to go, and with all seventeen suitcases they came with. Me? I only had pas de deux bags, but one of them was large enough to be a body bag. Beside me was my cousin, a tall 16-year old, the jock type, with broad shoulders and zit cover cheeks. He, of course, got stuck carrying my oversized bag.

As we made our way retiring(a) the tick et foresee the automatic doors whooshed open, nearly sweeping us away in a blast of icy air. It was celestial latitude in Vermont, which means one thing: ratty. The kind of cold that scathe the skin, just breathing made people cough. As we zigged and zagged our way through the seething maze of bodies, we kept flavour cumulus at the flight information in my hands. “ adit B-17, I’m sure of it” I said, none in any case con...If you want to get a full essay, aver it on our website: OrderCustomPaper.com

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