The Great Gatsby-Personal Narrative

Leaning on the black knotted tree a couple yards from the edge of my property, I had a spectacular view of Gatsby’s front lawn. His dark green, perfectly cut lawn stretched out for what looked like acres, with his light grey driveway slicing it in half. Parked there was his shiny black Rolls-Royce. Every Wednesday afternoon, a group of men came to his house to clean it, so that its polished black exterior shone. His car was a frequent sight on weekends, leaving and returning to his house with more and more guests, all with the same aim of partying, gossiping, and drinking. On one weekend in the beginning of July, I decided to attend another of Gatsby’s parties. He had informed me when we’d gone to Coney Island the previous Tuesday night, that I was welcome to come to any one of his parties and needed no formal invitation. As I crossed into his garden that weekend, I saw the familiar sight of clusters of men and women leaning in to each other to whisper secrets and laughing as they had another drink. I spotted Jordan across the lawn, looking beautiful in a long, black dress, and she signaled to me to join her. She was with a man who appeared to be in his late thirties, and his wife, a woman in a pale blue dress who looked around the same age as her husband.
“And it was in Times Square!” her husband exclaimed, leaning across the white tablecloth to insert himself in the