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I submit the first draft, and my teacher give me a feedback, hope you can modify the article in accordance with the requirements of the teacher. 3 SECOND.pdf  This one is my first draft.u539fu6587.pdf This is required to read the article, my article is based on this written.This one is the feedback. Please modify the article in accordance with the requirements of the teacher.
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SUNNY (SHUN JIANG)
!
4/24/15
!
SECOND DRAFT
I just saw the fictional story named One of These Days, it’s by
Garcia Marquez, Gabriel. Why I chose this story? Because the
character’s personality is very characteristic and prominent, also he
was conceited. The story inspired all who thinks they have more
power and try to take advantage of it, whether in a good pattern or a
bad pattern.
The story is about Aurelio Escovar, he was a poor dentist without a
degree. He was busy polishing false teeth in morning when the
mayor came to see him at first probably, because he did not want to
see the mayor of patience, until he saw the despairing mayor, who
had toothache for five days, threatens to shoot him. Eventually the
dentist lets him in, examines him, and removes the wisdom tooth
without anesthesia. We realized that the dentist was international
because he said “Now you’ll pay for our twenty dead men.” Then
when the mayor was leaving he asked “send the bill to you or to the
town?”. The mayor replies “It’s the same damn thing”. For this story
I want to talk about the mayor, he thought he could use his
strongest power to do everything. However, I don’t think so.
At first he thought he was the most powerful, he can control
everything and all the people, so he went to the dentist didn’t call
ahead of time to make an appointment, even didn’t pay and left.
The article said “The mayor stood up, said goodbye with a casual
military salute, and walked toward the door, stretching his legs”,
from this sentence, we could realize that the mayor didn’t have the
good attitude while he was dental treatment. Then the dentist said
“Now you’ll pay for our twenty dead men.” From there we can clever
see maybe some years ago mayor ruin 20 people, the mayor didn’t
get any punishment of these 20 people, they all feel very unfair and
angry. Because a great mayor is right, people didn’t know who to
turn to the complain.
In my opinion, as a mayor, it should be like an ordinary citizen
should not be conceited, with their right to do some things to help
others; also, done something wrong they should be punished, and
the public to establish a good relationship, listen carefully what
others say, friendly and communicate with others. Do not optionally
use their right just do what they should do, should be responsible
be modesty, of course, sometimes your job may involve being
more strategic but your staff will respect you for doing what
needs to be done.
In the end, I just want to persuade this mayor try to be nice to
everyone, he will also get happiness from other people. The
dentist realizes that only he cannot change anything with
mayor, and by giving pain to the mayor he was being a worse
person. In other hand, the mayor takes advantage of his power
through the story. He does not realize from his pain that he is
wrong and he is getting what he really deserves. As a result,
according to me, both characters use their power but the mayor
remains getting the result that he expected and the dentist gets
the victory for a while. But I think the mayor already realize his
problem, at the end he said “It’s the same damn thing.”
One of These Days
by Gabriel Garcia Marquez (1928-2014)
Word Count: 994
Monday dawned warm and rainless. Aurelio Escovar, a dentist
without a degree, and a very early riser, opened his office at
six. He took some false teeth, still mounted in their plaster
mold, out of the glass case and put on the table a fistful of
instruments which he arranged in size order, as if they were on
display. He wore a collarless striped shirt, closed at the neck
with a golden stud, and pants held up by suspenders He was
erect and skinny, with a look that rarely corresponded to the
situation, the way deaf people have of looking.
When he had things arranged on the table, he pulled the drill
toward the dental chair and sat down to polish the false teeth.
He seemed not to be thinking about what he was doing, but
worked steadily, pumping the drill with his feet, even when he
didn’t need it.
After eight he stopped for a while to look at the sky through
the window, and he saw two pensive buzzards who were drying
themselves in the sun on the ridgepole of the house next door.
He went on working with the idea that before lunch it would
rain again. The shrill voice of his elevenyear-old son
interrupted his concentration.
“Papa.”
“What?”
“The Mayor wants to know if you’ll pull his tooth.”
“Tell him I’m not here.”
He was polishing a gold tooth. He held it at arm’s length, and
examined it with his eyes half closed. His son shouted again
from the little waiting room.
“He says you are, too, because he can hear you.”
The dentist kept examining the tooth. Only when he had put it
on the table with the finished work did he say:
“So much the better.”
He operated the drill again. He took several pieces of a bridge
out of a cardboard box where he kept the things he still had to
do and began to polish the gold.
“Papa.”
“What?”
He still hadn’t changed his expression.
“He says if you don’t take out his tooth, he’ll shoot you.”
Without hurrying, with an extremely tranquil movement, he
stopped pedaling the drill, pushed it away from the chair, and
pulled the lower drawer of the table all the way out. There was
a revolver. “O.K.,” he said. “Tell him to come and shoot me.”
He rolled the chair over opposite the door, his hand resting on
the edge of the drawer. The Mayor appeared at the door. He
had shaved the left side of his face, but the other side, swollen
and in pain, had a five-day-old beard. The dentist saw many
nights of desperation in his dull eyes. He closed the drawer
with his fingertips and said softly:
“Sit down.”
“Good morning,” said the Mayor.
“Morning,” said the dentist.
While the instruments were boiling, the Mayor leaned his skull
on the headrest of the chair and felt better. His breath was icy.
It was a poor office: an old wooden chair, the pedal drill, a
glass case with ceramic bottles. Opposite the chair was a
window with a shoulder-high cloth curtain. When he felt the
dentist approach, the Mayor braced his heels and opened his
mouth.
Aurelio Escovar turned his head toward the light. After
inspecting the infected tooth, he closed the Mayor’s jaw with a
cautious pressure of his fingers.
“It has to be without anesthesia,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because you have an abscess.”
The Mayor looked him in the eye. “All right,” he said, and tried
to smile. The dentist did not return the smile. He brought the
basin of sterilized instruments to the worktable and took them
out of the water with a pair of cold tweezers, still without
hurrying. Then he pushed the spittoon with the tip of his shoe,
and went to wash his hands in the washbasin. He did all this
without looking at the Mayor. But the Mayor didn’t take his
eyes off him.
It was a lower wisdom tooth. The dentist spread his feet and
grasped the tooth with the hot forceps. The Mayor seized the
arms of the chair, braced his feet with all his strength, and felt
an icy void in his kidneys, but didn’t make a sound. The dentist
moved only his wrist. Without rancor, rather with a bitter
tenderness, he said:
“Now you’ll pay for our twenty dead men.”
The Mayor felt the crunch of bones in his jaw, and his eyes
filled with tears. But he didn’t breathe until he felt the tooth
come out. Then he saw it through his tears. It seemed so
foreign to his pain that he failed to understand his torture of
the five previous nights.
Bent over the spittoon, sweating, panting, he unbuttoned his
tunic and reached for the handkerchief in his pants pocket. The
dentist gave him a clean cloth.
“Dry your tears,” he said.
The Mayor did. He was trembling. While the dentist washed his
hands, he saw the crumbling ceiling and a dusty spider web
with spider’s eggs and dead insects. The dentist returned,
drying his hands. “Go to bed,” he said, “and gargle with salt
water.” The Mayor stood up, said goodbye with a casual
military salute, and walked toward the door, stretching his legs,
without buttoning up his tunic.
“Send the bill,” he said.
“To you or the town?”
The Mayor didn’t look at him. He closed the door and said
through the screen:
“It’s the same damn thing.”

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