House On Mango Street Monologue

The cab driver mumbled incomprehensible but foul language as I entered. I heaved my heavy brown overcoat off as I entered the cab so as to sit comfortably in this sticky, sweat smelling car. Will father show mercy, after all I promised that marrying her was my only favour. This ridiculous New York traffic, surrounded by those crooks prowling and scavenging on those that dare to walk alone. The dull grey sky didn’t interest me in the slightest and as I began getting restless, as my eyes feasted upon my ex-wife pictured with that Italian scum on the front page of the New York. I flew into rage as a roaring volcano erupted in my heart, her flaming red hair hurled around her shoulder and her shadowed eyes masking her true self. Her supine body posture whisking everyone in her wake to watch, to follow, to look at her. Business with the Materazzis never went smoothly, but as father vowed that peace had arrived and the hatred would cease
My head’s spinning now need another cigarette, only have 2 left. When the taxi smoothly rolled towards the house I began revising my speech. The rocky gravely road allowed me to decide how to avoid the oncoming piercing glares as I exited the relieved striped taxi. As I took the longest strenuous trudged footsteps to the front gate, past the uniformed stocky guard, around the flowing Italian water fountain as if gashed and then up the marble pearly white steps to only be confronted by barren shocked faces blazing with rage. “How could you”, my brother Oswald spat “What are we going to do Frank?”. I took off without taking focus off of my watch, I needed time to settle. I need to get this sorted, “Jonny get everyone in my office now!” I need to tell them all at once. When father comes I’ll be destroyed how can I face him in the eyes again, everything he’s worked for. The name. The reputation. Was I ever capable of being in the