Elaine Rosaline Porter began every day in the same manner: awake to her alarm clock at eight-o-clock in the morning, swipe a novel off the shelf, and scurry out the door to ride her bike to the local coffee shop. She always rode down the same streets and stopped at the same coffee shop, Penny Lane. Penny Lane was a modest, brick building, not pretentious or assuming in the slightest. Yet it possessed attractiveness despite all its simplicity. Oddly enough, Elaine never actually drank coffee. Truthfully, it made her nauseous, but she always enjoyed the thought of being a coffee drinker. She thought that all writers should at least feel inclined to drink coffee. Or hard liquor, but Elaine's stomach couldn't handle that either. Every morning Elaine entered Penny Lane and reclined in the same chair that resided by her favortie window. There she opened her book and read until her first period class. The owner, Mr. Taylor, pestered her at times, since she sat in the coffee shop every morning without ordering anything; in order to appease him, she might order some tea or juice just so she could resume lounging in her favorite spot. For two years Elaine maintained this regiment, and for two years she went undisturbed until today.
This particular day, Elaine slapped the snooze button of her alarm clock, snatched Jane Eyre off the shelf, scurried out the door, and hopped onto her bike. Speedily, she raced down Ninth Avenue, whizzed past Jasmine Boulevard, and arrived at the front door of Penny Lane; however, upon entering the tiny shop, she found that a rather skinny boy with a tousled head of hair had commandeered her usual spot. There he loafed as if the chair belonged to him, as if Elaine's cherished seat was his rightful property! Elaine found the lounger insupportable, and felt the need to rectify his gross negligence. She vigorously rolled up her sleeves, hastily pulled back her hair, and brashly marched toward the insolent boy in order to give him a piece of her mind. For some reason, Elaine also felt the need to shove her aviator sunglasses onto her face despite the fact she resided indoors. She loomed over the boy trying to appear as intimidating as possible, but once Elaine opened her mouth in order to confront the crook, no words came to mind or reached her lips. Standing dumbstruck, Elaine Porter turned to plod away from her severe mortification when the boy looked up to catch her before she could make her escape.
This particular day, Elaine slapped the snooze button of her alarm clock, snatched Jane Eyre off the shelf, scurried out the door, and hopped onto her bike. Speedily, she raced down Ninth Avenue, whizzed past Jasmine Boulevard, and arrived at the front door of Penny Lane; however, upon entering the tiny shop, she found that a rather skinny boy with a tousled head of hair had commandeered her usual spot. There he loafed as if the chair belonged to him, as if Elaine's cherished seat was his rightful property! Elaine found the lounger insupportable, and felt the need to rectify his gross negligence. She vigorously rolled up her sleeves, hastily pulled back her hair, and brashly marched toward the insolent boy in order to give him a piece of her mind. For some reason, Elaine also felt the need to shove her aviator sunglasses onto her face despite the fact she resided indoors. She loomed over the boy trying to appear as intimidating as possible, but once Elaine opened her mouth in order to confront the crook, no words came to mind or reached her lips. Standing dumbstruck, Elaine Porter turned to plod away from her severe mortification when the boy looked up to catch her before she could make her escape.
