I begged and pleaded with her for days upon days, but she was undeterred as she relentless threw my clothes in a suitcase and sent me on my way. After giving me a bittersweet peck on the cheek to try and allay my fears that I had fallen out of her favour, she gave me my plane ticket. As I grew resigned to this rejection, I put on my walkman and thought "I might as well kick it" (the situation that is, not the walkman. A walkman is an expensive piece of equipment and should never be kicked).
I sat in the relative luxury of first class, which was so good it was bad, as my peers would describe it. I ordered a glass of orange juice and sipped it finely from a champaign glass. At this point I was still under the legal age to drink, and the cabin crew had refused my request for a lager cocktail. As I reclined in my seat, I pondered to myself if this is what the people of Bel Air live like. Hmmmm, this might be alright.
When I touched down I whistled for a cab (or taxi, if you struggle to understand my lingo). As it approached, screeching to a halt near the curb, I noticed several peculiar things about the vehicle. Firstly, the license plate said "Fresh", and there were fluffy dice on the mirror. If anything I would say that this cab was rare, but I dismissed it, climbed, and yelled in an obnoxiously excited manner "yo home, to Bel Air!"
All events portrayed in this story are 100% true, as much as the material is 100% original.
|A copycat who read my essay|