Creative Writing Class – Week 7 Journal


I’ll just quickly share this one too.  We were assigned to choose one of five cliches and, using concrete details instead of the cliche, create a fictional setting in at least 3 paragraphs/300 words.

“Black Coffee”

Tommy says I shouldn’t, but I want to buy the man some black coffee.  “What if he doesn’t drink coffee?” Tommy asks, as we turn a corner and put our hands in our pockets at the same time.  A brittle gust of wind smacks our faces, as if it was pushing us away from the Bucks game we’ve been waiting to go to for seven weeks.  Our mom got us tickets for Christmas.  The man we had seen is always in front of the same building.  I think it’s one of those hostels I’ve heard about.  From fifty yards away, no one could discern that an actual man was sitting there beside the canopied stairway.

The light has just changed and we’re going to have to stand at the intersection for at least thirty seconds.  It never seems like much when it’s a TV commercial or in line at Starbuck’s.  Tommy’s always braved the cold, though tonight we’re both wearing long-sleeved flannel shirts.  I would bet anything he’s just waiting for me to rub my own arms before he does, as if it was some sort of masculinity contest.  A crowd gathers at the light, and the wind is stifled slightly.  Just as the tips of my fingers reach the top edge of my pocket, the light changes and we’re moving.  This blood flowing through my active body will keep me warm for the next several blocks.  It’s my first NBA game, too, so the thread of adreneline and excitement helps too.  I stare at my feet and the blackened concrete as we cross, but I’m only thinking about the poor man outside the hostel.

Inside, the arena is buzzing with excitements because the previous season’s champions are visiting our small market team.  The seats Mom bought us aren’t very close to the action at all, but we do have a great vantagepoint for the entire arena.  Only a sparce number of seats go unfilled by halftime.  The second half becomes a  little hazier because Tommy and I get drunk without really wanting to.  I don’t think about what my credit card bill will look like next month.  The visitors stomp our hometown boys, but it was a fun experience.  We’re too old to truly care of our team wins or loses.  Nowadays, it’s just about going out as two brothers, having some beers, and enjoying a carefree night.   We take a cab back to our cars several blocks away, and the driver says something about some poor soul by the hostel being loaded into the coroner’s van.  Tommy laughs because he always laughs when he drinks.

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