A descriptive essay about "A Pool Hustler".

Smoke filled the room as I walked around the green felt. My right eye shut tight as my left eye squinted to a narrow slit in a last minute attempt to line up my shot. Sweat forming on my scalp as the body heat radiating from my head was trapped with my white UCLA baseball cap. I felt nervous. This was the most important shot of the game. I had to sink the eight ball. I looked down the narrow sight line at the white cue ball and then the shiny black marble like material that seemed to be moving in all directions, yet going nowhere. I noticed my hands shaking as if they
were about to have a…