Mr Jones remembered to look the henhouses. He was very drunk. He forgot to lock the popholes. His lantern dancing side to side. he stumbled through the yard. Kicking his boots off. He poured himself a glass of beer.
He ran. He sprinted. He’d got it. He had succeeded. Off he went. Frighted and scared. He kept running. Hearing sirens. Seeing flashing lights. Cars surrounding him. He’d been cornered.
Police cars surrounding him like an angry swarm of bees. It was in slow motion, police running towards me, their handcuffs ready I tried to escape. Quickly smashing into more police cars, they are yelling and grabbing me.
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