Tips relating to Saving picasso Movie

If you are a guy with cotton t-shirts and sweaters, then stay away from these. I thought the black would make my wardrobe look better than my white plastic hangers, but it sure is a hassle to get these hangers in a cotton t-shirt. If you have all dress-shirts, it’s a LITTLE smoother getting the shirt on and off, but the plastic hangers prevent tangles and wrinkles induced from the hanger grabbing onto the fabric like velvet. Glad I bought it at Costco I can easily return it.

I think this style could be the perfect hanger if each hanger only had a 4-5 inch velvet section on the top of each of the slants and the bottom bar with the rest being smooth black metal/hard plastic.

-2 star TOO sticky
-1 star PRICE is double COSTCO.

I’m in need of critics for my story..?
I’ve just finished the introduction and I need some constructional criticism. Keep in mind though i’m only 14 and I’m kinda new at the art of story writing… But with some work, would my story have potential to become published or a movie some day? The DocksThe days turned into weeks and the weeks turned to years. But the things that didn’t fade into the shadows of my past were the things that I held near and dear. My children, their children, and a few memories and a few wishes. But the past is the past, and wishes are today. Some go about and pity for themselves, but I’d be rather be caught tossing dimes down a well.Sixty five years into my life, most of my questions are answered. Most of my Picasso is painted. But a few questions adhere to my mind and linger throughout the day, One of which a disturbing memory. I even question if it exist. It goes like this……There’s a kid in a passenger seat of an unfamiliar car. He’s drowsy and struggles to keep himself alert. Where he was and why he could not figure out. It’s as if he had Saving picasso Movie been drugged. He didn’t have a family, or at least he could not remember having one. The car is in some one’s driveway. Church bells chimed and made harmony with the breeze. That’s when the memory stabbed the poor kid. He remembers a tall thin woman pulling over in a driveway and stepping out of the car and whispers, “No matter how long I am, whatever you do, don’t leave the car.” Then the woman slams the door and disappears into the evening. The setting scared the boy, he didn’t understand any of it. He struggled to figure out who the woman was. Why he was with her, and who she was. So naturally, he steps out of the stranger’s car, and heads down the road, sun beaming in his eyes. He turns around and takes one last look at the strange portrait, and pays a last bit of attention to the car he just abandoned, the same he was supposedly told not to. A loud clicking noise and then an explosion shake and rattle the peaceful silence. The car he had just been sitting in had just exploded in front of him. The vehicle melted in the driveway and a couple faces paid attention. Then there she was. Dressed like a business woman. Heading out the door with a briefcase .She stopped and looked at her little car burning before her. She scoped out the neighborhood sweeping her head back and forth. And then she looked directly at the boy’s eyes. She was careful how she did so. It was as if she didn’t want to kill the boy, but wanted to save him from whatever he wondering to.“Please! Come back! I promise I won’t hurt you.” She yelled.The boy ran into the sunset, unsure of her true intentions. And that’s about all I can remember. But the story almost upsets me for whatever the reason.Where did this story come from? I haven’t a clue. But It’s always there staring me down almost as if it were part of my past. The story is like a puzzle. I put it together each day, but I lose a piece. And it keeps fading away, and I fear I might lose it. If I lose it, I will have no more questions. They will all be answered and my life will no longer have any meaning.I also can’t help but pity for the boy in the story. Before I fall asleep, I can’t help but stare at the ceiling and wonder if that boy is calling for my help at this very moment.
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