Creek I had no idea what to expect. The closest I have been to a prison is driving down Route 53 in my home town and seeing Statesville maximum security prison for men. I have never been past the barbed wire; I have only seen the stark grey cement walls from afar. However, regardless of never knowing a single one, my opinions and beliefs of the people who live inside are abundant. However, by deciding to visit Mission Creek I decided to face my stereotypes head on, and see where they stood after I
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out, this place was actually a restaurant. I didn't know it at the time but I stumbled upon an amazing hidden gem. The atmosphere is very welcoming and the staff treats you like family once you walk into the door. It makes sense that they are a locally owned and operated business. The walls are filled with old West Texas memorabilia ranging from paintings of the high plains to Native American Chiefs in traditional clothing, six shooters and rifles staked into the wooden beams. Everything in here
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aren’t so good once I entered my room. I hate my room, four white walls, so fuckin’ boring. I’m trapped within this room, I need that key. I wake up every morning underneath these salmon covers, sore neck from my one pillow. I always wake up before Emily too, lay listening to the muttering under her breath whilst she sleeps. Watching the room break out from itself, cracking through its own walls. Katie stares blankly at the four walls of her room scanning every inch effortlessly as if she has done
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formed small clouds in front of me as I pushed through the bitter wind, my bag's straps digging into my shoulder. Reaching the glass industrial door, I swing it open, welcoming the rush of warmth on my face. I climb the four flights of cement stairs to the third floor, my boots and heavy breathing echoing off the cinderblock walls. The thick steel door swings open with a twist of the handle and some jiggling, revealing an art studio with its own character and personality. Patterned cotton drapes
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wrong. Why must I go on without your love? It's faith, I guess, that I suffer so. It's destiny to love you so. ------------------------------------------------------------- Long poem by Helen J Radford | Details | 'and the walls came crashing down..........' A knock at the door, who can it be? Probably Sarah coming for tea. She usually calls on her way back from work to share some time with me. A look in the mirror, I 'tut' at my face: Why do people always call when there's junk around
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little flecks of paint decorate each square to disguise the drops of food and bits of trash. What room number was it, 1306 or 1309—pretty sure it was bed B? Check the chart. The bleached tile hugs the wall and hides underneath the rustic orange-colored plastic border, creating a gap amid the tile and the wall where the occasional stray syringe cap is lazily tucked in between it. Feet are throbbing; stomach is rumbling, long day, clocked in at four this morning, just want to sleep forever. Following this
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ask for high rent the unsuspecting new tenants don’t know that their heating bill is going to be much higher than their rent come winter. Because in most cases the house has no insulation in the walls 100 years ago animal hair and wool was used for insulation and that has slipped to the bottom of the walls. Because they live on a month to month lease with the landlord it doesn’t take them long to find out they cannot afford to live in these conditions and they live out their deposit then move out
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THE YELLOW WALLPAPER By Charlotte Perkins Gilman It is very seldom that mere ordinary people like John and myself secure ancestral halls for the summer. A colonial mansion, a hereditary estate, I would say a haunted house, and reach the height of romantic felicity—but that would be asking too much of fate! Still I will proudly declare that there is something queer about it. Else, why should it be let so cheaply? And why have stood so long untenanted? John laughs at me, of course, but one
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SOGO: A FRESHMAN'S ARCHITECTURAL CRITIQUE 03/11/2014 0 COMMENTS The hotel industry is one growing business in the Philippines, among others. It was made, primarily, to provide accommodations, shelter, food and other services to tourists and travellers. Eventually, hotels have adapted to the progression of society, adding new features and functions to attract more customers, yet, in recent times, hotels have started to become different than usual, changing its function into something very
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Anhara. Even if the slime is weak, a veteran could easily die if one manage to reach his head. Kahli poked it with his spear, and Anhara break their core, ending it's life. "Uff, that was close, thanks... now, what we can find on door A?" When they open the first door, they found a common place, it's like any bar, but the strange furniture make it stranger. "Hey! Anhara! I found some licor". "Drop it Kahli, you know that the good ones are in the warehouse, we need to find one if we want food from
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