My Town :: essays papers

My Town To give you a better vista of My Town, I will perch him atop the highest point of the some-kind-of-wonderful city of Hillside The Giza pyramid-shaped tummy of garbage majestically sitting in the town red cent. The movie dramaturgy is to the west a neon-pink fluorescent sign frames this weeks shows Th Bach, Scram 3, and y of Th Bholdr. Teenage employees kick all responsibility for the missing Es. A makeshift lemonade brave is set up a block away. Sometimes, its determined entrepreneurs, the set of five-year-old twins, Brooke and Blake Simone care to mix their drink of choice with extra flavoring, such as leaves, rocks, and the occasionally, insofar classic family of ants. Needless to say, the single dime in their yellow Teletubbie funds box has not multiplied since their first day of business. The strip gist to the north has been replaced by Car Max, the automobile superstore. Unfortunately, the abundance of cars has not, in fact, amend anyones driving skil ls, or lack of them. Further west is Proviso westward High School the peeling, forest-green painted fence that protects the school grounds failed to forbid kleptomaniacs from stealing seven car stereos from the parking lot last December. The football game field behind the school patiently waits with its freshly mowed green glare for the team of big, burly boys (and one girl) to actually win a game. At 530 AM, a shivering Student Council vice-president with the intent to do extra work trudges the perimeter of the edifice, praying for an open door to a create that doesnt like to be occupied outside of the normal school hours. Psychologically, twain opposing beliefs surface for why I dream of dancing sugarplums and college diplomas rather than a pin on my Dairy Queen hat that reads Employee of the Month. A child is either influenced by his surroundings and peers or repelled into the opposite direction. As a magnet gone a rye, I am thankful that Hillside has not influenced me to blend in with the crowd neither the cemetery crosswise the street from school nor the various monument and flower shops entice me to- pardon my morbidity- just drop dead. The strategically located bowling alley exhaust the block does not tempt me to ditch school. Certainly, the smell of the garbage dump has turned me off to the wide-eyed world of garbage disposal and disabled my nose, thus threatening me into giving a hoot.