to bother Mr. Anderson. Ms. Ross would enjoy small talk with Miss Wilson, and as a result, Miss Wilson would not pay too much attention to Mr. Jackson’s loudness. I would be seat myself between Mr. Jackson and Mr. Harris since I would be too busy wandering around preparing food to really notice their foibles. To be clear, none of these descriptions are based on real people. I used obscure names so that they would obviously not reflect anyone specifically. I simply wanted to exercise my use of character development to execute a fun assignment. If anyone has a different order of seating, I would be more than happy to read about it in the comments!
The Poet-Nick Ward His eyes looked over the last line one more time. Perfection. The word rang through his head as he looked at the plaques on his wall. This one will not just be another to the collection. This one will be special. His house was an expanse, his cups were goblets, his backyard was a frontier. Yet all the opulence could not match the size of his accolades. Even so, it took nearly fifteen minutes to get from the typing room to the sailboat. Ravens gathered upon a single withered, icy tree next to the dock. He stopped and looked at them, realizing he had just come across an idea for another poem, without realizing he had written it six times before. He passed by the nursing home, where he would always read his poems to the elderly. It reminded him of how they raged and raged against the dying of— well he actually never knew why they were quite so angry. They were the subjects of his poems as well. And the old baker who lost his wife. And the old woman who used to be a girl. They were all rather old. He passed by the famous museum which housed Ramesses II. No one ever thought much of Ramesses until The Poet saw him. He saw in one image the past, the present, the future, greed, immortality! Everyone else just saw a statue. But when he spoke the people listened. And they all flocked like ravens, or uh, doves to see the king glisten
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