Descriptive Essay On Destitute Beauty
Destitute Beauty In the large city of New York, there are many beautiful people. I am not one of
them. I can pass hours away sitting in a coffee shop in a tall seat next to the window, watching
the beauties pass, seeing my reflection against them even more bloated and lumpy than normal.
Some of them notice me. Most of them don t. It doesn t matter. Like I said, New York is a large
city, I ll never see them again. And anyway, I m sure they re used to people staring. How could
they not be, they draw people with their large, black rimmed eyes and lean figures and cutting
jawbones like dogs to the enticing smell of meat. I am just another dog, one they will forget in
moments. And when the sun sets, and the beautiful people fade away and the crowd becomes
faceless and intoxicated, that s when I leave, and where I stay until the sun rises, becoming one
with the pulse and throb of the mass. Promising myself that the next day, yes, the next day, I ll
get a job, ignore the cold, gorgeous people, succeed even with my lumps, and papery skin, and
eyes that are just a little too far apart. And the next day, with my headache, I return. Today is
yesterday and the day before. The sun is especially bright now, almost passive aggressively
bright, shining smugly through the haze that buries the city, bouncing into the small cafe in
which I spend most of my time. It s supposed to be homey, with nearly dead plants hanging
skeletal by the windows and overstuffed couches near a coffee table. I sit in the uncomfortable
seat that s almost comically tall, at the only table next to a window. The barista Ellen is chatting
happily with a customer, she barely notices me anymore. Which is fine by me. A woman, with
long legs and hollows under her cheekbones, struts past the cafГ©, a mere foot away from me. She
doesn t notice my stare. It s a funny thing. People talk all they want about feeling when people stare
at them, getting goosebumps and looking around frantically for their admirer. But either it isn t
true, or I m not important enough for my stare to mean anything, hold any weight. Searching
through the crowd, I find parts and pieces that I want most, playing a game I often play. Her taut
stomach, her long legs, her bright eyes,
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