Summary : ' The Bag ' Essay
This is nicer than celebrity homes in magazines, Quinn thought. She explored the 2,900 square foot penthouse suite room by room. Each time she flipped a light switch it was a glossy page of extravagant design. There were Italian marble floors. A flat screen television was in every room, even the kitchen and bathrooms. The table in the formal dining room was set for six, the piano in the living room and jetted tubs in the two bathrooms cried out for use.
Quinn stood in front of the panoramic windows in the living room, staring at the mountain view. It would all be beautiful if every room wasn’t a testimony to Kristen’s destroyed life. She turned off the lights, lit a pair of scented candles from the master bedroom and waited.
Russell sauntered in at 3:33am. It was his whistling that set her off. The penthouse was littered with unopened designer boxes, plastic shopping bags. A mountain of shoes and clothes with tags blanketed the master bedroom like snow in a hoarder’s paradise. When she heard him whistle as he turned on the lights by the door, euphoria exploded within her chest like a fire cracker.
Quinn hit him with a brass candlestick taken from the dining room. Excellent quality, she thought of the heavy ornament. Russel stumbled backward. He crashed into the consult table in the…