please go head and write, describe key, i mean the key that we are always using to open lock or unlock something, timepiece and any object ill give you option you can choose your object, and i am going to upload two files sample of my teacher that other student wrote, please dont copy from it, just read and write the same thing with your words. this is an english 104 class, again please read the sample and follow and write the same thing with your words
a. Your key
b. Your timepiece
c. An object of your choosing
Professor Troy Cardenas
23 February 2016.
A key, comprised of silver-plated brass lays unanimated. Its profile exhibits age; silver on
the inside, and brass on the outside. The head is like a mesa, flat with 90 degree drops on both
sides that lead to three moguls perfectly replicated on each end. A perfectly straight drop leads to
a pronounced thinning of the key. It reads ?Axxess+? in a raised rectangular box encompassed
by a diamond gradient that is controlled by a raised edge on both sides that is smooth, yet subtly
stripped of its silver coat that exposes the brass bone underneath. The shaft is sharp and jagged
like the Sierras; its brass notes are like ice-capped peaks that rise and fall. The flat-side of the
key is still immaculate with a silver dressing that extends to the tip with minimal discoloration. A
thick groove with a steep face on one side and a shallow incline on the other cuts across the
center of the body ending at the head of the key with a boat-like hull outline that shallows out to
a brushed chrome U-shape in the middle. The number ?68? is underlined on the bottom right
corner, and unlike the rest of the key?s center, it is adorned in a brass coat distinguishing itself
from its background. A perfect mechanism for the lock it was forged to open or close is now
aged and dulled, but displays the craftsmanship of its creator and holds true to the purpose it was
Clouds cover a coastal highway as day breaks. The blanket of fog confuses those around
and blends with the undefined grey in the surrounding area. The waking Suns gentle orange hues Parseghian 2
stroke the cliffs and sands beneath, slowly disintegrating the repressive fog to reveal and an
ocean so rich with dark blue that it would appear black if it were not for the dying moon above.
A gentle wind comprised of rotting kelp and sea salt rolls west across the beach to challenge the
obnoxious scents of burning diesel from the road above to create a taste so suffocating that it
causes those around to only discuss its appalling flavor. On the roads edge, where the cliffs begin
lies an object small enough to be a coin, but with enough shimmer to be a blade. The swath of
motor oil and sand surrounding it distinguish the object. The glistening object is lifted from its
resting place. The side face-up is shiny and smooth with edges revealing brass on its borders
from constant use. Unsurprisingly, the side face-down is coated in oil. It is greasy and with sand
in every crevice it is uncomfortable to feel, like a fish that has been sitting in the sand. However,
the Sun?s soft rays touch it and unveil an orange shine that compliments the keys silvery skin,
creating an image identical to that of an ocean at sunrise.
A summer moonshine lingers above an overdeveloped city, faintly being noticed due to
an immeasurable concentration of lights pouring out of every window, door, streetlight, and sign.
The stars above are nonexistent, and are instead replaced by the constant red and white strobes of
light coming off helicopters and jets flying overhead. Countless parking structures, high-rises,
and apartments are aligned along the cracked roads they have been built adjacent to. There is no
wind, but an occasional draft from cars passing by. On the sidewalk, there is a dull and lusterless
key. Its pressed silver has been scratched off by the constant footsteps thoughtlessly rubbing it
across the rough concrete. The brass, once covered in a glistening coat of silver now is riddled
with countless scars that overlap without traceability. The teeth, once sharp and serrated like
mountains are now edgeless. There is no luster or glow, but instead dirt in every crack. Only a
faint streak of silver remains, running through the key?s center, untouched by the harsh treatment Parseghian 3
of the city. The key feel gritty like sandpaper and leaves a dusty and slick residue in the cracks of
the sweaty palms of its beholder as if it were dirt itself.
A parrot sits. Its general appearance consists of green feathers with streaks of grayishblue. The parrots head is mainly green below and around the beak with a wonderful red on top of
the head that fades back to green. The bird?s peak is a faint orange that becomes transparent
towards the edges. The top of the beak extends over the bottom beak as if it were an overbite. Its
eyes have a bright yellow sclera that has a slight orange circle around the rims. The iris is an
intense black and reflects any light that touches it. The eyelids are a whitish-grey that are
surrounded by green on the bottom, red on the top, and blue that trails from the back until it
fades away into green, creating a crescent pattern. Its legs and feet are a light rosie color and
appear rough on the top and soft on the bottom with little pads. The front and rear-end of the
parrot?s feet have claws that are curved, becoming thinner as they move away from the body.
The claws are blackish and transparent, but are not too threatening in appearance.
An empty parking lot is being kissed by the morning sun. It is rectangular in shape and is
comprised of white lines which are parallel to each other. For every white line there is a grey
parking meter. Most are identical, but there is an occasional sticker that breaks the consistency.
A short walk of around one hundred for or so leads to a row of metal benches that sit beneath
massive oak trees. The benches and grass beneath are wet from the morning dew. There is not a
cloud in the sky, just a soft peach-colored sunrise that gently touches the surrounding hills and
mountains, giving them a blue appearance. A terrible screech like that of a child is heard
Suddenly, a parrot lands adjacent to our witness. The dawn light brightens the bird?s bright green
feathers and illuminates its rose-red crown. The Sun?s rays bounce off its pitch-black iris. A Parseghian 4
scent reminiscent of cut grass, pollen, ripe fruit, and poop is resonating from the winged creature.
Our witness slowly puts a hand out. She feels the parrots feet, they are leathery and feel brittle,
as if she were touching an insect. She moves up to the green bird?s head and lightly palpates the
soft feathers travelling down from its red crown all the way to the hind stroke-by-stroke as if it
was velvet. Another violent child-like scream is heard and the parrot flies off into a blinding
orange dust speckled sunrise.
A concrete bridge stretching from Glendale Community College to Verdugo Park is welllit. The street lights and shopping center between Canada and Verdugo keep the grey bridge
illuminated. There is not much, just coffee cups left to blow in the wind, gum to settle into the
concrete, and an excess of cigarette butts from across the globe neatly pushed against the
sidewalls of the bridge. Cars beneath obnoxiously speed to and fro. An occasional whiff of
tobacco comes through, but nothing else. It is unbearably hot and the only thing that remains
constant is the smell of raw sewage that evokes memories of eggs sitting in the garbage disposal
of a good friend?s sink. A parrot sits on the railing of the bridge. Its lively green and red are less
radiant due to the lack of light. Its pitch black eyes are glossy and reflect the lights from the
street. Calm and silent, the bird occasionally jerks its head left and right while perched. The
rancid breath travelling out of the Green Parrots mouth is similar to that of a chicken coop that
has not been cleaned for weeks. The scents vacating from the bird and the sewage create a sulfurlike taste in one?s mouth. A soft graze across the red crown and green feathers gives off an oily,
yet soft touch. The feet and claws feel like an insect and a chill moves down the spine as one
inches towards the claws. It repeatedly sounds out ?fuck you! fuck you!? Then bows its head,
cleans itself with its yellow matte-textured beak, and promptly flies off into the illuminated night
to disappear. Parseghian 5
A train station is elevated by four round concrete pillars. It is perfectly symmetrical on
both sides. The concrete slab resting atop the pillars thins out as it moves towards the middle of
the four structures holding it up. Two staircases wrap around both sides. Each staircase is held up
by four red pillars that run through them. Green railings wrap around the stairs leading to the top
platform. There are green fences on the top of the platform on both sides with octagonal shapes
between the fence posts. The center of the platform has a green bungalow with red trim that is
supported by four red pillars on opposite ends. The green tiles on top have a concave that
resembles a quarter of a circle that leads to a quick drop onto the platform below. Two oxidized
green benches sit directly underneath the bungalow facing opposite rails that surround both
edges of the platform and run parallel with each other in opposite directions. A directory adorned
in green sits in the middle of the platform. It is sun-stained and the plastic protector that encloses
the map inside is scratched with an array of jargon and symbols such as the Indian Om and
swastikas to put some flavor into the station.
A platform sits atop four tall cylindrical pillars made of concrete. The street below is
dirty and relatively empty except for the occasional runner or cyclist. A hazy smog is tinted
orange by the rays of the rising sun. As wind picks up it slowly fades away, revealing a dusty
street riddled with all sorts of garbage, mainly empty bags from grocery stores along with bits of
styrofoam, and empty cigarette packs. The station above is speckled with dust and ash, but there
are no large pieces of garbage like the street below. The springtime sun is more powerful than
usual and its intense rays quickly warm up the concrete platform above the street. The green and
red bungalow resting on top of the platform is brightened by the waking sun. The tiles are dingy
and have an evident film of grime stained onto them. The majority of the station from street level Parseghian 6
to the bungalow are touched by daylight. Only a few portions of the open-air location are
unexposed. Faint scents of urine mixed with copper linger in the morning air. An occasional car
horn is heard in the surrounding areas as commuters rush to work. A young man sits quietly with
a backpack against his feet and with headphones around his ears. The adjacent bench facing
opposite has an older man impatiently waiting for the next train. He says nothing while waiting,
instead he mashes his phone screen in anger as he mutely writhes at the inconvenience of riding
the train. Everything is sticky and coated with a million various grimes from the countless
amount of commuters who have frequented the station. No railing, bench, or fence remains
unspoiled. The evident blemishes muck-down all surfaces. A distorted noise permeates through
aging speakers. The noise is first a narration from an ethnically ambiguous male stating ?Use the
Metro Goldline to connect to Union Station.?
Beneath a smoggy summer night sky riddled with the lights of thousands of homes is a
train station raised above the street. Above, not a single star is visible, just a faint blue that
becomes more concentrated as one looks closer to the ground below. The red and green details of
the station are indistinct due to the lack of light. The concrete pillars blend with the ground
below. Piles of garbage are dispersed around and underneath the station. Each pile is a little
different, but they all have their fair-share of cigarette packs, grocery bags, canned energy drinks,
and beer bottles. The aroma of spilled beer, ash, vomit, fish, and firecrackers stimulates the
nostrils, but it is the whiff of boiled piss on the sun-baked metal rails that invigorates the senses.
Skateboarders and drunk teenagers who could not find the right station congregate on the
platform. Each group has their own conversation that has less substance than the one before,
?Yeah, that guy looked wigged out on crack!? The ticket kiosks keep the station well-lit while
constant orange flickers are seen in the distance as random passerbys light their cigarettes. The Parseghian 7
closed businesses surrounding the station create a blanket of dim shadows that commuters gaze
into as they share spliffs atop the silhouette of a palace that is Chinatown Station.
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