Elvis Walking Stick Help Me With My Story?

Help me with my story? - elvis walking stick

You must have a key to that is the beginning.

Please help! to achieve an end to the 1000 words.

It was a hot day in September, and the people are still a glimmer of the summer holidays there, the summer was long, hot and people do not let the day seemed to drag on. But weep London London, still in the taxi, people, garbage, piles of cigarette butts and yellow masses of tourists. A young girl stood on that day, but more than anyone else. He stood up, loose, not like other people who are depressed and lost in a big city, this young girl, who seemed happy. The first thing that struck me, the red hair that stood through the mountains of chlorine dark blond or brown or dark, young people are not soundt loud, but highlights. The reds glistening in the sun after the girl went into the opaque "black box" in 1980. I thought, better than it looked.
It is the story of Rosie Miller red head.
Upon entering the house on the third floor of the stale smell of cigarettes and alcohol from the age of 40 years, depressed by the lobby filled my nose. All I could think about was opening the door too hard sticky side of my bed. This time without the man in his 60's, the wonder still trapped in the era of Elvis combed his hair backwards, sometimes gray and tight top that shows all the bad parts, too. Fortunately, open on the third attempt. As I have from my pocket Topshop have both aof cream and black bag next to the pile of papers, which may otherwise be bothered to do, I said to myself, this is my dream is that nine to five jobs, it is "is not what I dream. A routine a routine like a baby. In any case, I think it best with my best friend Lou.