Every now and then a car would pull in and I would have to get up and go pump their gas. Only a handful of customers came into the building to buy something. At about. M., i finally got off work. I walk out of the store and around to my car. The people filling in for me were out front taking care of a couple of customers. I walked out back. I stand outside the driver side door for a few moments in the dense fog.
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T like that yet, but I hoped it would get like that. I walk up to the door to the building with the big green Hess sign. I pull the door open and step inside. It was editor a small rectangular room with a wall of glass in front and on the sides. T much space needed inside because all that was sold inside was soda, some snack foods, and tobacco products and accessories. After standing in the doorway admiring the small cozy area that surrounds me, i walk over to the desk on the opposing side of the room and plop a squat on the soft cushioned office chair. I reach into the one of the drawers of the desk and pull out a magazine to read, because for the time being no one is at the station to be waited. The magazine is one of my favorites, its called Thrasher It has a lot of stupid articles that gives the magazine character and style, which is why i read. Most of the day goes by mostly uneventfully. Shortly after I came into work, another employee showed up to help me with the scores of annoy customers who often come to the station to fill up their cars.
I lock all the doors to my car and put anything that might appear to be of value, slightly out of paranoia but more out of habit. After doing this I pull out a stick of gum from the pack of doublemint in my pocket. After I finish it, i open my door and step outside into the cool air of the morning. A thin fog has begun to settle over the area, the forecast said it was going to get worse. I actually like fog, it is mysterious and you never know what is waiting just pdf beyond what you can see, it might be good it might not. S just so great to walk through the fog and feel the thick mist on your skin. S the greatest feeling when you the air is almost a substance and leaves you wet after walking through.
The city cops actually have to deal with serious problems of crime and protecting the safety of the citizens of the city that they work for. I could have gone on thinking about cops but I was almost at work, so i universities decided to think of something else. Something happier, something pleasant, something that would make me seem friendlier to the people around me at my place of work. And you may ask, time where do i work? At the local garage and gas station, the hess on the corner of Brandon boulevard and Moni street, that is where i earn my money to pay my bills and other various expenses (you? Ll learn about these later). I pull into a parking space around the back of the hess, in the space i usually park.
I reach behind my aching back and take.45 and put him back to where i usually keep him. Continuing on my way, i think about how much I hate cops, especially small town cops. I have no respect for them, most are pricks and they don? T really do anything. The majority of small towns don? T have any serious crimes. So the cops just go around heckling people for stupid *censored like i just was pulled over for. City cops are a different story; they actually have a real job.
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Do you know why i pulled you over??no officer, i haven? T the slightest idea of why you decided to delay me on my way to work. Mind informing me why I? M sitting here on the side of the road doing absolutely nothing??I summary pulled you over because your stupid *ss left your turn signal going.??And you pulled me over for that? What a waste of my time. Ll be leaving now.??no, you won? T say you could leave.??Ok?
Whatever??now get your punk ass outta here now, I? M sick of looking at you? Rolling up my window and turning up some music, i turn the key that has been waiting eagerly in the ignition. The engine roars, and I shift into first gear. Then i apply pressure to the gas pedal, and pull away real smoothly.
He notices the sarcasm, for ominous gray clouds hover above in the gloomy sky. He replies in a very annoyed voice? I speak aloud in a fake surprised voice? Where are your manners, pops??Gosh darn it you little punk, just do what I say!? Slowly i reach behind my back, grazing.45 as I reach into my back pocket for my driver?
I pull it out my license, but rather than give it to the pig, i look at it myself.?Wow? This is an old picture, just look at that hair. Ll have to go change that picture, i look terrible!??Listen up you little sh*t, gimme your f*ckin license right now before i kick your sorry *ss into a little bloody piece of sh*t!??What does a bloody piece of sh*t look like? I ask him as I hand over my license. Looking at it himself he says? You?re right you do look like sh*t,??I still look better than you? Is the defeated reply from the round man outside the driver? S side window of my car. After looking briefly at my license he throws it back at me, and asks in an attempted tough sounding voice?
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After he closes his door, he pulls up his pant and adjusts his belt. He begins the essay walk to my car at the speed of a rolling donut, as if he were chasing after a boston cr? Me that had fallen from his clumsy hand. Looking into my mirror, i realize that there was a morning snack he was chasing, but it was cruller. The cruller had toppled onto its side right beside my door, and as the pig arrived next to my window, he bent down to pick. Thankfully he was facing me when he did. Bringing himself to an upright position, he taps my window with his nightstick. I slowly roll down my window until it will roll down no more.?Good morning officer, what seems to be the trouble on this wonderful weekday morning? Is the words that come sarcastically filsafat from my mouth.
M traveling at about 70 mph on a 30 mph street with a pig (otherwise known as an officer of the law) behind my speeding car. Casually i try to lower my speed in tribute the hopes that the pig hadn? T noticed I was going 40 miles above the speed limit. The chirp of sirens and the flash of colorful lights beckon me to the side of the road. I gently drift to the side of the road and come to a complete stop. The pig fiddles with himself in the car for a bit and then finally opens the door, actually he just cracks the door open a bit. He finally opens the door completely, and steps out. As he does this I take my good friend,.45, and place him behind my back. Just in case officer dunkin mocha wants to cause trouble.
red to green. I gently depress the gas pedal at first, but quick as a bolt of lighting, impatience gnaws at my sanity. Ve had about all I could take of this slow speed travel, i thrust my foot into the pedal, pushing it in as far as it will allow itself to be pushed. Cruising at a leisurely pace of 60 mph, and still accelerating, i peep the rear view mirror. Much to my dismay, i spy a white car with a row of red and blue lights atop of the roof. Behind the wheel is a large man in a blue uniform, with a cheap badge. Checking my speed once again, i come to the sudden realization that I?
Why do speedometers go up to 100 if the highest speed limits are 55? But I suppose that I put mine to use quite frequently, at the moment its pushing. Raising my eyes to look back at the road, i see a sharp right turn coming up very soon. As I come upon this drastic bend in the road, i stomp on warming the brakes while swiftly spinning the wheel clockwise. The tires squeal as the rear of the car slides into the opposite lane. I bring the back of the car to join in the lane that they both should. I continue down the long slab of asphalt that lies ahead. People on the side of the road point and stare as I thunder past them in my chariot. Quite a distance ahead, the traffic light at an intersection turns yellow; signaling to me to slow my automobile so that I will be able to stop once the light turns red.
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Looking Out The window Essay, research Paper. Looking out the window, a sign on the side of melisande the road reads? I think it should be much higher, but I suppose residents of the road want to get out of their driveways without being smashed by a speeding car. I look down at the dashboard, which is covered with beer cans (there? S no bottles because they always end up finding their way out the window and onto signs and other objects various coins, and assortments of waste products. Directing my gaze away from the hideous sight of the trash, my eyes wander away and focus in on my speedometer. The pretty little numbers that encircle it go from 0 to 100. As my eyes wander, so does my mind. I think to myself?