my perfect job :: essays research papers

I look out the window and enchant massive buildings, millions of dark-skinned lights lights and above it all a dark night sky. Its or so eight, and I rub my eyes in an effort to wipe forth exhaustion from the long twenty-four hours. I struggle to get up and easily walk over to the huge window. I look down and see hundreds of tiny cars whoosh in all directions, I think I see people, but its too hard to tell. I imbibe on my cappuccino while thinking about todays case. I admire my speech and the carefully thought out questions for the main witness. I remember when I first started my practice a shabby depressed office on a side-street, working for a snobbish little man who always annoyingly patted his head to make sure his toupe was still there. I was so inexperienced and scared. I notice that I finished my cappuccino and have been sipping on air for the past fifteen minutes I laugh at myself and toss the empty cup in the trash. Then I fall plump for into my thoughts, and I r ealize that Im proud of me. I proud of my tall bookshelves full of legality books which I have all read, my big desk with piles of folders with cases waiting to be freed, the confidence I have in the courtroom, the way I worked so hard to be able to say that I love my job, Im round of how eager I am to come in here every morning and I never want the day to end so I can stay just a little longer. A lot of people can only envisage of what I have. I am interrupted by a ring, thats my phone. I pick up the receiver and try to pull myself back into the details of the case I was going over before I decided to bear away the much-needed break, its a business call. For the next half(a) an hour I fall into the world of justice, right-and-wrong, the world of my client and our case. I hang up with a smile because I like it when I can tell a person I will take care of this, dont worry. This puts people at salvage and me in control of the situation so I can check it my best.