A postcard-length short story I penned last night

For my English classes, I thought it would be a good idea to come up with an example of what a descriptive paragraph could look like, using some clear imagery and engaging with sensory-related experiences. So, I wrote this last night so my students could see what I meant in the directions. Let me know what you think... enjoy!


I walked out of the conference room toward the parking lot, shoving myself through the weighty door as I swung my backpack over my shoulder. I felt the hard thump of my laptop slam against the small of my back as I inhaled a cold, crisp November breath. The smell of diesel exhaust filled my mouth, heavy and bitter, like sucking on the gray sky that hung over the valley. But the gray above was so much sweeter than the pollution invading my lungs and causing me to hack. Stepping past a rusty Buick and a sloppy, muddy flower bed (which would be blooming with fragrant tulips in a few months), I could feel the pulse of my phone vibrating through my jacket. After being bombarded by voices all day, I needed a few minutes of solace and silence before I battled another request for attention. The partially frozen doors of my jeep creaked open, and I tossed my pack violently on to the passenger seat as I sat down on the cold, vinyl seats. My raspberry car freshener needed to be discarded. Flicking open my cell, I checked the number: home. I probably needed to grab a barbequed chicken or some salty take-out on the way home. Maybe she wanted to grab a sandwich at the jazz café up the road, listening to Duke Wellington and enjoying a glass of pinot noir. Checking the rearview, I backed out slowly, drifting in my mind to Dizzy Gillespie, hearing each note of the trumpet bleet out while the sax kept time in the background. It was like I was already there, as if it took only a moment to transport myself to the dark mahogany and rich maroon and yellow walls of the café. I pulled out on the main drag with a lurch and a grind, thinking about the sticky first gear. I heard a short burst of sound; a quickly-approaching screech, or something similar. As the sheet metal and fiberglass and vinyl and plastic crumpled around me and glass fell about my face, I was thinking about her in that café, smiling, laughing; she was thinking that maybe the day wasn’t as long or as hard or as bad as she originally thought.