Halfway There

Half way There Halfway There People. Droves of them, hustling off to their authoritative gates with seventeen suitcases strapped to themselves like pack mules. All scowling, furrowing their brows. Hoping to droop to where they want to go, and with all seventeen suitcases they came with. Me? I only had couple 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 takings 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 agony the skin, just breathing made people cough. As we zigged and zagged our way through the seething maze of bodies, we kept flavour great deal at the flight information in my hands. “ adit B-17, I’m sure of it” I said, none in all case con...If you want to get a full essay, company it on our website: OrderCustomPaper.com

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