The Curb

“This single, lonely curb near a local family-run boba shop was my “bridge,” the place where i was in my element, despite its lackluster features and location in such an empty mini-plaza.”

Writing “The Curb” was difficult for me, personally. I had no idea how to approach the task of writing a descriptive essay, and all I had was “The Bridge” as a reference and my special curb as the subject So I began to connect fingers and keyboard and create words in a structure akin to those of “The Bridge.” Although this first draft felt like my final draft – which I feel is the trend among my essays – there is still room for creativity. To revise my descriptive essay, i could adjust the ratio of “concrete to abstract” to not leave the reader asking more questions than answered. Also, I could find a different or alternative way to structure the essay, whether it be completely changing the format or arranging paragraphs to be less similar to those of “The Bridge.”

The full first draft of my essay, “The Curb,” can be found after the break.


It was in an extraordinarily uninteresting location. The curb ran along the edge of the worn concrete pavement of a mini-plaza filled with a CVS, a Winchell’s, and an abandoned farmer’s market. My friends and I would sit on it near a yellow speedbump, with boba drinks in our hands and thoughts in our head and just talk. It was extraordinarily uninteresting, but that made it all the more special.

My friends and I found this particular spot on the curb after discovering a small family-run boba shop. We had biked to the plaza in the scorching sun and craved something to drink. This quaint little shop satisfied our niche, and the elderly owner handed us our requested mango smoothies with a delightful smile on her face. Not in a hurry to leave, my friends and decided to sit: not on our bikes, but rather on the curb in front of the shop. We eventually found ourselves basking in the shades of the setting sun, not realizing how much time had passed and how long our drinks had been empty. Leaving the curb that day was like a farewell to visiting relatives: bittersweet, filled with anticipation for the next reunion.

The curb near the dainty boba shop made my friends and I feel like children again. It brought us down to the height of toddlers and refreshed our perspectives. Cars passing by the yellow speedbump seemed like behemoths, while adults passing by seemed like giants. Time moved slowly like in the summers after elementary school where our biggest fears were not spending our summers wisely enough.

More importantly, the curb cleansed our day-to-day palate. The curb was close enough to home to remain feasibly accessible, but far enough to distance ourselves from everyday life. Worries and stresses were whisked away when my friends and I sat and sipped on our plastic boba cups. We simply just divulged what was on our minds, moving arbitrarily from subject to subject: our latest romantic endeavours, thoughts on philosophical dilemmas, dreams and ambitions. The curb allowed us to learn about each other, while teaching more about ourselves in the process. My obnoxious public persona gave way to a private, quiet listener who chose his words more carefully. My friends, who were often reserved in school, opened up and became orators, and I was his audience.

The curb allowed my friends and I to be spectators. We were able to remain in one place and watch life unfold in front of us. The sun would move across the sky as noon turned into afternoon. Customers would frequently come in and out of the boba shop which we sat in front of, like sentinels. Cars would whiz by on the nearby street or honk their horns in erratic yet insidious traffic. The curb asked nothing of us but to enjoy the ride and the view which followed.

Reflecting on the curb, I feel it was also a valuable tool to all who took the time to sit down and contemplate. From it, I was able to unwind, if just for a moment or two in the grand scheme of life, and be in my element. It helped my thoughts flow and organize themselves. It taught me not to worry about insignificant details but rather appreciate the routine and ordinary. When I would take my bike out of the bike racks behind the curb and pedal away, I would consider how if tomorrow was not as monumental as today, the curb would be there to fill that gap.

I still recall vividly the memories shared with my friends and the lessons I learned from such a negligible part of a mini-plaza. No other place, whether attractive or alluring, could come close to the curb my friends and I shared. While we would have been content with the curb itself, the blistering sun, our sweat-soaked backs, and our plastic boba cups made it even better.

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