The Poker Game

descriptive essay Mr. Quade Accelerated Junior Language humanistic discipline eighth period October 7, 2001 The Poker Game         I was football team in the summer of 1986. My family and I were spending our usual sunlight recall with nan and Grandpa. Grandma was ill. Because I was one of the of age(p) grandchildren, I was allowed to go into her room for a while. When entering the room, I had to deflect and gather myself to spawnher. I entered the room. It was wish well a blistering inferno. I had to remove my jacket. I glance at the perimeter of the room. In the corner near the closet displace an old, tattered hanger. The physical was discolored, and ripped. The decorations had long faded. The metal was disfigured and began to rust. I picked it up and hung my unfledged and white windbreaker on it. I gingerly fixed it in the cedar closet.         My attention shifted towards the bed. Could this very be my Grandma? The room sme lled of coffee, remnants from the familys long night. It was so secure I could to the highest degree taste the burnt, hardy, warm, liquid in my mouth. Her hair, matte and lifeless, was plastered against her sear head. Her eyes were sunken into her fleshless cranium. They were dark and waterlogged like a foul and dingy lagoon.

Grandmas tiny thin body went just about unnoticed in the great(p) bed. A mere skeleton of a hand reached toward me and patted the patently endless cot. When I went to her, she allowed me to set on the edge of the mattress. I took her weak, dry, and brittle hand, which was as dim as a feather compared to mine. Her skin felt like old leather, discol ored with age. I comprehend the quiet hiss! of the atomic number 8 pipe snaking from her nose.         I glanced at some of the beautiful... If you want to get a full essay, order it on our website: OrderEssay.net

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