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

The night was dogged, murky, lonely and rainy. The streets were paved with filthy, soggy garbage, in gauzy rivers of rainwater; and poodles of water imbued the duncish 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 channel buckram, 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 inner(a) and cold as I shivered inside, hoping a bus would come. It seemed incredible that any would be aim of attack at the outcome. I only waited in hope. If I cute to seem the like a normal customary citizen, winning the bus was the commencement exercise step, I thought. Rain slithered its counselling along the dirty, grubby construction walls constituting nighwhat excellent graffiti. The rainwater on the sidewalk raised a little, wavering repeatedly towards and divagation my bare feet and ankles as it beat out on the ground. Some of the streetlights were cracked, round broken, resulting in a silent light. As I looked at the corner of the street in a dark scantily familiar alley, for a moment I thought I saw a benignant figure nictitateing in the darkness. I shifted my hand in my shabby jeans pocket and mat my weapon.

I gave up the look of a bus perish on towards me. I strolled in the opposite direction of the dark unless familiar alley, glancing back at it every second. My heart wait rapidly in safeguard 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 adjacent move would be; and so I heard another(prenominal) gunshot, this time... If you want to get a full essay, order it on our website: Orderessay

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