Descriptive Essay: Clarkson's Life

It was the most horrific April night. The moon was nowhere in sight the stars hid under the cover of dark storm clouds. The wind shook the trees violently and the temperature was biting. Thunder could be heard rumbling and lightning lit up the night sky. Emery Clarkson, a man in his thirties, emerged out of an Clarkson Corporations after a late night of trying to finish the never-ending, mountain-of-work on his desk. His hair was dishevelled, his face exhibited a weary expression, his suit was wrinkled and his demeanour was more aggressive than usual. He wanted to return back to his penthouse as fast as he could.

After a long struggle with the umbrella, and a trip to 7-Eleven to buy a cheap cup of coffee (desperate times called for desperate measures), he finally arrived at his sleek black Ferrari which camouflaged in the dark of the night. He buckled up, started up the engine and drove through the streets. It was littered with homeless families and little kids shivering in the cold of the night; it was not possible to survive these weather conditions in flimsy shorts and a t-shirt. These surrounding was a very stark difference to the luxury of a penthouse he lived in.
The radio station mentioned an alien invasion; the fifth one he had heard this week. It muttered something along the lines of them taking revenge on the human race and the Clarkson Corporations, the company which Emery was the CEO of, for mining their moon for some lead and zinc — the two minerals Earth had run out of. He thought it was just a load of massive rubbish, and carelessly changed the station. He changed it to an old-school hip hop music station, playing The Hills by The Weeknd. He rolled his eyes in annoyance and turned off the radio. After all, there was no place for old-school hip hop music in the heart of a cold businessman like