My Bag

I sling my bag over my shoulder and head out the door. I love this bag. A lot. Purple and brown pieces of cloth stitched together with passion, it always smells like a combination of Jonah and Daniel. As I walk down the driveway to my car, I can feel my Bible hitting my leg in a steady, unchanging rhythm from inside my boy-scented, security blanket, grandma given purse. Sinking into the driver's seat, I take a moment to thank God for my blessings. With the start of the ignition comes the blasting of my new Skillet CD. I turn onto MacArthur and eventually make it to Penn. Pennsylvania avenue is probably the farthest thing from unfamiliar to me there is. As I turn in to the church parking lot, I realize I could drive here with my eyes closed.

Author's Note

Check commas?