Descriptive Essay About The House On Mango Street

I misplace the spoon inside the fork slot of my mother 's worn down kitchen drawer. In her usual drunken self, she stumbles to walk towards me, dragging her ragged house slippers against the tile floor. I look straight at her with her tangled hair and her blood-shot eyes that tend to cross over because she can not focus on a single damn thing. Her robe is half way on with the band dragging behind it while her half chewed nails of her right arm grip the liquor bottle, her left arm pounds the counter top. She starts screaming,

"WHY CAN 'T YOU EVER DO ANYTHING RIGHT."

I stare at her one more time. Complete silence fills the void of the room. Before her anger decides to run rampant, like it does every day, I give her the middle finger and leave.
***
I take the four crumpled twenty dollar bill stuffed between my unused journal and my emergency backpack full of clothes, money, and snacks. I walk fifteen minutes down my neighborhood and across Irving Street. I play hopscotch with the damp patches of rain while the wind hits

I slouch down in my seat and stare at the opposite side window. Old Town Alexandria is Virginia 's mini version of Amsterdam. The streets lay near the harbor and Christmas lights adorn the top of each of the trees. Each of the small business has a certain charm to them. The Waltz Bar and Grill has eggshell paint which highlights the English ivy trailing down from its bayside windows. Alexandria 's bookstore is one of the oldest buildings there. As the result of the heavy rain we get at the beginning of August, its brick walls are sheltered by an olive colored moss. Next to it, is Arlie 's ice-cream shop. Deep teal and gold trimming is the aesthetic that the owner decided to go for and large pots of white daisies guard the fenced entrance. In the distance, I hear Rob talking on the phone. It has officially been fifteen minutes now. He walks back into the bus, shrugs his shoulders and places both his hands