migia
Jan 11, 2011
Undergraduate / Staying at a Homeless Shelter Essay [3]
Hi, this is an intro for my descriptive essay from my experience at staying at a homeless shelter:
I need suggestions and mechanical corrections. Thanks!
The Mary Day Center* stood out like a piece of chipped coal in a bag of diamonds as it was awkwardly situated between a line-up of shiny, polished skyscrapers of banks and big-money corporations. It was a small white building that had probably seen better days with its exterior decoration of brown water stains dangling from the roof like strands of Christmas lights. Luxurious SUVs and vintage Cadillac cars hustled past it in the tight street of downtown St. Paul with drivers having places to go, loved-ones to meet, and Christmas lists to fulfill. One by one, the red laser beams of the drivers' visions were set straight in front of them; ignoring the destitute crowd standing outside the Mary Day Center* who were being skinned to the bones by the harsh, Minnesota wind chill, as if it were a crime to acknowledge the poor. Somewhere among the homeless crowd that night, I joined them. And I, too, would also become forgotten and invisible.
Hi, this is an intro for my descriptive essay from my experience at staying at a homeless shelter:
I need suggestions and mechanical corrections. Thanks!
The Mary Day Center* stood out like a piece of chipped coal in a bag of diamonds as it was awkwardly situated between a line-up of shiny, polished skyscrapers of banks and big-money corporations. It was a small white building that had probably seen better days with its exterior decoration of brown water stains dangling from the roof like strands of Christmas lights. Luxurious SUVs and vintage Cadillac cars hustled past it in the tight street of downtown St. Paul with drivers having places to go, loved-ones to meet, and Christmas lists to fulfill. One by one, the red laser beams of the drivers' visions were set straight in front of them; ignoring the destitute crowd standing outside the Mary Day Center* who were being skinned to the bones by the harsh, Minnesota wind chill, as if it were a crime to acknowledge the poor. Somewhere among the homeless crowd that night, I joined them. And I, too, would also become forgotten and invisible.