Juno's Argumentative Essay

He was there too, for a time, briefly, looking at her. There was a different kind of tension presented in that moment, though, as I surveyed him; his eyes were not soft like John’s, but hard and erratic, moving back and forth in nearly invisible movements. He looked like he was trapped, struggling to restrain himself.
Rather than remain passive he followed her and took up the pen. My memory got more vivid as I considered Lucky’s work under Juno’s. It was odd to experience his illustrations from a distance, the finished product first, before seeing them in progress on the screen in the back of my mind.
His illustrations were either crudely violent and sexualized, or a simple quote from a Biggie Smalls classic. “I live for the funk, I’ll die for the funk” was just below and right to what looked like a stick figure pirate standing over a pile of bodies, which was below “I let my tape rock until my tape popped,
Watching him in confusion I struggled to match the tension in the air to the situation before me. What is going on? As if acting on our fears he brought the cup to a 45-degree angle. A real threat. Juno broke the silence with a plea, “Lucky, no!” but all of us sensed the intention in the air. Some foul substance leaking out from inside him. Neither his eyes or mouth bore any semblance of a smile as he drilled his stare into each of us in turn. Me. Juno. John. Me. Finally, having made a decision, he looked at the cup and poured it slowly on to the table, milk merging with the cigarette butt covered plates to form rivers of lactic ash that began to dribble off the side. Once the cup was empty Lucky released it and we watched for hours as it fell. Staring at the cup I knew that something was going to be different once it hit. The company had changed. Lucky, as we knew him, was gone. This was someone new entirely. Someone who does not play well with