I tried my hand at using more concrete nouns in this exercise my teacher gave me. I was sitting outside in the middle of downtown.
There is clattering of metal poles as men are putting away tents. Constant beeps from the city bus can be heard in the distance, mingling with the other traffic noises such as: tires tearing across the road, brakes creaking, engines whirring. The wind makes the tent flap. An even, confident clop, clop like a horse comes from a the heels of a determined woman. The mischievous wind blows the tent corner out of the worker's hand.
A faint cigarette stench lingers in the hot air. I smell exhaust from a motorcycle, that pungent, sweet yet dirty and overpowering scent. Now the sun and wind conspire together to play with the shadows. The fly-aways from my forehead flutter outstretched over my notebook. The palm leaves above me quiver. Out of the corner of my eye, something bobs up and down, the shadow from the flag on the phone.
Staring above me, I see large palm leaves overlap and me as my umbrella. The ridges are crisp, even, and tight near the center. They slowly branch out until it's almost twice the size. The outline of one can be seen through the other as the sun shines down on it. The very edges are brown and frayed.
The sun heats my cheeks, like I'm blushing, but the wind is blowing just enough to take the edge out of it. One side of my face is warmer than the other one. I shift to find a more comfortable position on the heated marble slab I sit on.
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