The deserted street lay bare and cold.
Sun fought to be seen, losing it’s battle to the clouds.
It was a bright cold day in April. The clocks were striking thirteen. Winston Smith had his chin nuzzled into his breast. It was an effort to escape the vile wind. He slipped quickly through the glass doors of Victory Mansions. He was not quick enough to prevent a swirl of gritty dust from entering along with him.
The deserted street, which was dark gloomy, lay bare and cold.
The man, who was humming to himself, walked down the middle of the road.
Waves, which smashed against the rocks, were capped with white froth. Seagulls chirped cheerfully, flapping their wings in the hard cold wind. Frozen people, who cupped hot chocolate, shivered as the wind pierced their faces.
The shed, which is musty and damp, stood eerily in the corner. Garden forks, that are off with dirt, lined the walls. Empty flower pots, which cold and lonely, sit in the corner.
All hope was lost after the Thames finally ran dry.
After the citizens ignored the warning signs the ecology of the planet collapsed.
If the Thames finally runs dry all hope will be lost.
Since all hope was lost, the Thames finally ran dry.
After the ecology of the planet collapsed all hope was lost.
After the paper blew away, she gave up altogether.
Describing a plastic bag using senses
Waxy feeling, unexpected smell, translucent, crinkly when squashed