For school I had to write a descriptive paper of my favorite spot.

In my favorite spot I can go anywhere. Sometimes I go walking in Central Park and look at all the vendors and musicians. One of the vendors has a great big popcorn maker. I love watching each little corn seed as it heats up, breaks open its sides and flies out of the bowl onto the bottom of the machine to be scooped up and put into a bag and then sold and eaten. One other vend0r sells burgers, but not just any burgers. His burgers look almost like him. They are the fattest, juiciest, tastiest burgers that can be found on planet earth. The musicians there play wonderful songs: the big bands play ‘Sing, Sing, Sing’, and Frank Sinatra. The Rap singers and their drummers make up beats on the spot. The soloists sing and play their guitars hoping to strike it rich one day. The orchestras plays. The opera singers sing along. And the whole place is full of magic.

Sometimes I take canoe rides down the Amazon. The river is turning now. Along each side of the river there are bananas and other fruit that hang so far over the river it looks as if the fruit is swallowing the river. I hold on the rough edge of the canoe for dear life as I come to a rapid. I miss a rock, I paddle fast, and I miss another. Then I hear the horrible sound of the canoe snapping in half as I am flung out of my comfort zone and into the white, churning waves. The water roars with laughter as I claw at a rock. The current is fast, and the rock is slippery. I grasp the rock tightly. My nails slide down it leaving a trail of grime and blood. I scream – at least I think I scream. Then I go under. I am swirling in the water, helpless. I lash about trying to find the surface. My entire left side hits a rock. My head is jerked backwards. I can’t move my arm. It is stuck; I can’t feel it! Then I can’t feel anything.

Other times I ride on the beach. My horse is white with a long mane and tail. She is spotless. We gallop on the soft sand with the waves splashing against us. The sun is setting. It casts golden light on us both. Then when my horse gets tired, I slide off her and collect shells. Some of them have wings on the back, some are brown with ridges, and some are twisted into a point. After I have filled my leather saddle bag with shells, my horse and I walk to a willow tree. Its leaves almost touch the ground. I part the leaves of the tree as my horse and I walk though. Under the tree is a patch of grass and flowers. I pick flowers and weave them into my horse’s mane and tail. After her hair is a flowered canopy, I lay my head on her belly and fall asleep just as the sun falls over the horizon.

In my favorite spot I can be whoever I want to be. Sometimes I am a photographer climbing hundreds of miles of rock just to get the perfect photo of the Alps. As I climb, I lose my footing and fall. But the rope that I had tied to a ledge three feet down saves me. I can’t catch my breath yet, though. I am still hanging by a half inch thick red and blue rope. I put both my hands back on the rope intending to pull my self back up, but then I stop and let go. I look back down. There is the perfect shot. Right there. I carefully pull my 5D SLR camera out of my backpack. I put its strap around my head. I focus on the closest peak. I try to take the picture. My hands are shaking; anything I take now will be blurry. I force myself to take a deep breath. I take a picture. Then another. I fill my camera’s memory card before I take the strap off of my head and put it away into my backpack. Then I climb down.

I can be a billionaire at the mall. I walk in Anthropologie in my six inch gray skinny heels. At the click of my heels everyone in the store stops to stare at me. Nervously a sales lady walks up to me and says, “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“No, thank you. I am just browsing today,” I reply.

The sales lady cowers and mumbles something to the effect of, “Take your time. Don’t let us bother you.”

I have no intention of letting anyone bother me. I straighten the long light pink pearl necklace I am wearing with my cream flowing knee length dress and knee high gray heels. I go straight past the clearance section. I start at dresses and work my way through pants, shirts, shoes, and accessories. Then I go to the dressing room. I try on a yellow party shirt. “No,” I say to myself, “not the right cut.”

I try on a dark green and light blue flowered pants. “Ah. Yes. That is good,” I say. I try on more and more until I am ready to check out with five carts full of color and texture. I feel good, so I pay for it all with cash. Then, feeling guilty, I donate three times that amount to charity.

Other times I am merely me, happy as can be in my favorite spot: sitting in an old creaky chair in the basement at the computer, writing away. I love this spot where I can draw my readers in and make them feel any emotion that I want them to feel. I can make them happy or angry. I can make them love someone and hate another. I can make them scared and nervous. Truly “the pen is mightier than the sword.” – Edward Bulwer-Lytton.