The smell of sugared coffee tree creeps under my door my sisters radio blares the newest adolescent adept and drowns out the morning news light seeps in through and through cracks in my curtains and the cold of a wint er darkness forces me to cut into back under a warm good plenty of scratchy old quilts as I tell myself, " pentad more minutes and Ill get up." I contort myself into a comfortable knotty little ball under the deep coverings and bury my head into the broken-in old feather pillow set about for warmth and what remains of my last dream. BRRRIIIIAAAAAANNNNGGGGG, ka-tank, ...If you want to get a full essay, order it on our website: OrderEssay.net
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