Spencer-Part 1: Spence is the leader of a gang enterprise in Jamaica. The underworld of organized crime

The night was grisly, murky, lonely and rainy. The streets were coat with filthy, soggy garbage, in glorious rivers of rainwater; and poodles of water imbued the boneheaded potholes of various sizes, dominating the street. The rain flung itself on the ground, getting heavier and excessively. I stood at the sidewalk of the road bearing strong, and soaked in water. I did not have a raincoat or an umbrella. My raggedy wet clothes plastered against my skin. I felt raveled up inside(a) and cold as I shivered inside, hoping a bus would come. It seemed marvellous that any would be blueprint of attack at the split second. I only waited in hope. If I cute to seem resembling a normal usual citizen, winning the bus was the get-go step, I thought. Rain slithered its way along the dirty, grubby construction walls constituting nighwhat excellent graffiti. The rainwater on the sidewalk raised a little, wavering repeatedly towards and excursus my bare feet and ankles as it check on the ground. Some of the streetlights were cracked, some(prenominal) broken, resulting in a silent light. As I looked at the corner of the street in a dark scarce familiar alley, for a moment I thought I saw a gentle figure moth-eatening in the darkness. I shifted my hand in my shabby jeans pocket and plane my weapon.

I gave up the probability of a bus force out on towards me. I strolled in the opposite direction of the dark unless familiar alley, glancing back at it every second. My heart consider rapidly in aid but fear in me was deficient. Then suddenly I heard a flash bang of what I knew was a gunshot, in the distance. I froze and listened contently, so I could decide what my nigh move would be; and then I heard another(prenominal) gunshot, this time... If you want to get a full essay, order it on our website: Ordercustompaper.com

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