In the midst of a buzzing cafeteria of practically carnivorous one-sixth graders chomping savagely on their mysterious chocolate- dark-brown bollock of cafeteria food, stands a bony middle-aged lady with wild graying brown hair and a white megaphone dangling from her thin shoulders. The lunch line resembles a fat gourd, wider at the top where legion(predicate) impatient people have decided to undertake, and thinner at the end. I turn my head for a second and play along my classmate Ross clumsily slip into the spot ahead of me. Hey, you let down me, I said bluntly. Pffft, what are you talking just closely? I was here first! Ross yells back dramatically. With her crimson lips pursed and turns on her hips, the bony lady marches over with her unappealing scowl, statuesque over us with her eyebrows all scrunched up together and walks pronto back to the center of the lunchroom bellowing the school yahd iz opeen! The schoolyard is like a mini-world, and you never know when y oull discover something knew. A herd of guys would meeting around the basketball courts worshipping the orange hoop as their idol, fitting another cult would worship the almighty concrete payball wall. On the outskirts, by the rusting gray fences would be the girls, gossiping nearly the hottest celebrity, emitting phrases ranging from oh my God! Or contributeo Bloom!
to lets try and kill the innocent bee on the floor. The fences used to be my favorite spot, sitting on the feeble black gravel and carelessly rocking back and forth on the rusty ol fence. During the summertime, the short and stubby red-bricked school shiel ded this land of the yard, like an oasis in! the middle of a desert. At some point in seventh grade, I stuck my hand into the fence I loved so much and unsuspectingly pulled out... If you want to get a full essay, order it on our website:
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