Describing a walk thing-a-ma-bob:
The way they walked drew the eye to their feet, pointed outwards like a ballet dancer’s. Their stride was mature, but far from decrepit, like a child that has been exposed to the harsh reality of the world from a young age. Their posture drew the eye and reeked of import, arrogance and narcissism, strong and tall like the buildings of the surrounding concrete jungle.
Next word: ravishing: smell from kitchen in morning.
A waft of burning coconut oil glides through to my bedroom, inducing a craze of hunger. My stomach growls like an angry tiger and takes over my brain, pulling me out of bed and towards the kitchen. The godly discs sit on a stark white plate, glowing with heavenly radiance, ready to be feasted upon. The first thing that hits me is the bittersweet tickle of lemon juice running down my throat, followed by the tingling sensation of sugar and finally the wholesome taste of the pancake as I swallow my first bite. In seconds, my first serving is gone like a dream in the morning. The next is similar, but instead of the zest, it is a rough, spicy cinnamon flavour. I down three pancakes in my ravenous mood, before I sit back in my chair and let gluttonous guilt and rabid regret overcome me.