You know the type

You know the type.
  1. She's eighteen years old. She's white. Her hair, two tone, black roots with blond tips. She seldom smiles, preferring to scowl in the photos her stepfather makes her pose for, claiming it will bring them together as a family. She refuses to speak to 'those sluts', the other girls who live downstairs that she used to go to school with. She has two children.

  2. He is wiry and thin, a shallow physique that threatens none. His eyes dart from side to side, intently watching all that goes on around him. He enjoys the sound of the television, but never speaks to anyone on the telephone. He is nineteen years old, and has never kissed a girl. His name is Tim. He has cerebral palsy.

  3. She is beautiful beyond belief. For her seventeenth birthday, her mining magnate father gave her a brand new Porsche 911. She is class President, head of the cheer squad and has been accepted to UCLA to study humanities and history, before she takes a job with her father's company, which she is due to inherit. She has attempted suicide nine times in the past twelve months, but fails each time, fearful of 'leaving scars on her body.'

  4. He is tall, handsome and armed with a stunning smile. His manly build is a testament to hours and hours spent in the gym, sweating his weekends away in pursuit of the perfect body. He neither drinks, nor smokes, preferring transcendental meditation to the highs attained through substance abuse. He is due to be married to a very pretty woman in three weeks. She doesn't know that he has spent four years in prison for rape.

  5. She lives in a cardboard box behind a Burger King restaurant, subsisting on scraps left out by lazy customers and hurried busboys. Her favourite are the burgers that have gone a bit cold, because the sauces congeal and don't drip down her arms as she eats. Occasionally she'll get lucky and find money in amongst the food scraps. She gives every penny she finds to the Catholic Church around the corner, to help the poor of the parish. The priests shoo her out if she shelters from the rain in the church for too long.

  6. His name is Henry. He is 76 years of age. He has a slight mental disability, which forced him out of his labouring job 19 years ago, when the foreman found out that Henry couldn't read. His family, who claimed that he was 'too much trouble to deal with', consigned Henry to a nursing home in December 1986. Henry's family lives three blocks from the home, but haven't visited him in more than seven years.

  7. She is white, middle class and quite clearly successful. Her name is Sarah. She works as a middleweight account executive at one of London's most prestigious advertising firms, producing community consciousness-raising commercials for groups such as Oxfam and Greenpeace. Her hatred of criminal negligence and environmental disaster is only matched by her loathing of Pakistani people, a loathing she will only admit to in quiet whispers in the wee hours of a drunken Sunday morning.

  8. He is comfortable, without being wealthy. He has a lovely partner, a spacious apartment and an excellent job. Next week sometime, he'll be getting a cat. Probably a Burmese, if he can afford it. He sees nothing wrong with judging all of the people that he has listed above, although - he is sure - others will see it differently. He is me.

What do you think, did we get it right? Comment here...