Denne hisotie har intet med infantilisme at gøre og var min første rigtige historie.
Meningen med historien var faktisk at øve mig i min skriftlig engelsk, men håber i kan lide den.
That Tuesday night, the Joes Bar was as usual, emptied out for customers. Only a handful of people were in the smoke filled room with stain filled walls from the nicotine running down them.
In the ceiling a vent was running making the smoke into a turbulent mess, just like Joes customers life’s where. Mike sat in the bar with a smoke and a gin. He looked down in his wallet at the picture of his former girlfriend and his two sons. His thoughts went through his head. “Why did she leave him and how could she take the children” Already he knew why she left him; his many hours of work and the fact that he received the most dangerous tasks of them all.
As this thought went through his head he pathetically poured down the gin, trying to forget he felt like one big joke. His thoughts were interrupted by his phone as it started to ring. With his finger over the red phone button he looked at the display.
It was George. He was the easy type and very trustworthy and besides that, his boss at the station. “Hey George” said Mike with a chilled voice filled with the smoke of a cigarette blow. “Mike we need you on the station”. Mike hung up the phone and looked down in the ashtray shutting of his smoke and retured into the dark and rainy streets.
As he arrived at the station George sat in his office. “We have some problems at the condemned house outside town. It seems to be the beginning of a methlab.” George pushed the papers on the table to Mike. He went through the papers and lightend up a smoke. “How many people have been seen in the house?” Mike asked with the dampened voice of the cigarette smoke. George looked through the case, “We’re not sure, but it seems to be one of the major gangs. They call themselves The Rogues”.
Mike kept looking at one page and said “Who’s this?” “It’s James" answered George. “He’s the leader of the gang”. James looked like a mexican guy and he had some tattoos written on latin on the right arm. “The gang is heavily armed with .45 caliber. They raided the Tides yesterday”.
Mike was wondering while he heavily inhaled the smoke, filling his lungs with the deadly, but very calming particles. “Do we at least have a guesstimate of the number of rouges in the house?” asked Mike with a very serious look in his eyes. “We have spotted 5 persons in the house, but we’re not sure if they all are members of The Rogues”.
Mike gave him an acknowledging look and stood up from the chair, with no other words he stubbed out his cigarette, putting on his long coat and with his shoulders held high, he left the office.
As he returned to the street, through the station, all the officers gave him long gazes, recognizing his good work.
Mike was thinking for himself: “I have a task to do, may it once again be the success or the death!” Once again he walked the streets with the heavy raindrops falling down on his long coat. As he disappeared in the darkness he lit up a smoke…
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