Next comes sight peculiarly in the night when the streets are lighted up. There is so much to hold in, I could not have ciphern it all yet if I lived my entire life in Puerto Rico. Vendors are selling all types of food. The pitiable people are asking for food or money so they can eat. round poor people are staring at you from head to toes. I have never seen a railroad yet, but they do have taxies and cars in the streets. In the smallest towns rickshas speed out all over town, more often than not within walking distance. When you drive to the beach you can see the water sparkles and glimmers.
The sense of touch follows you no matter where you go because you have all these vendors cooking there meal to sell. The fruit and vegetables are so fresh out of the ground and trees. The circulate is almost tangible.
The taste of Puerto rice is the taste of the air. Sweet potatoes simoleons and candies are fresh out of the oven. Hand-picking vegetables and fruit are the trump out thing that my country may have to eat and see how most of the food grows from the ground day by day.
The well of Puerto rice is more likely music made up of common sounds. People chattering on the streets, vendors honking their horn to hitch attention. The bass is the rickshaws engines roaring and animals roaming in the streets. Some of the people listing to music and drinking some coffee tree or a cold beer to pass the day. The melody that everyone enjoys. A melody that has completed the five sense of Puerto...If you want to get a full essay, order it on our website: Ordercustompaper.com
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