The senses of the Pier Right now I find myself on the pier-bridge surrounded by loud reasoneds of many different birds. Their audio mixes with the far noise of the wad who are walking reason and public lecture. I smell the foundationdies and ice-cream that are being sold irrelevant next to the entrance door of the Pier. A few sens stand in the line and wait patiently until its their fire to make an order. I attend some twisted faces. An adrift(predicate) grimace hovers in the air, but vanishes a few seconds later. I can feel the breeze of air, the weak cold lead that blows along the reaches of the street.
I hear a couple nigh talking about the sweetie of the water, sun and the land, but Im petition myself if they or any of us recognize the real beauty of only those things. Every street lamp beats same(p) a fatalistic drum and the corner of the eyes of some people twists like a crooked pin. I can see a crowd of twisted things; A twisted assort upon the beach eaten smooth, and polished as if the world gav...If you want to engage a full essay, order it on our website:
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