doesnât change anything! His frustration and consumption of alcohol were on the rise. It took a lot of effort and some serious threats from Pascal to get him to stop concealing his habit of drinking on their shift.
Once Pascal arrived at the station, he was basically with his second family. First, he went and changed. He had a few polite exchanges in the locker room and caught up on how things had gone down from those coming in from the previous shift. One police officer was especially amazed by Pascalâs unwaveringly good mood. He responded with a huge smile. This was exactly what he was proud of. He waited around a little bit. His partner had mastered the art of being systemically late for his shift, but Pascal didnât hold that against him. After a good fifteen minutes, he finally showed up and had to listen to a good dressing down from the police commissioner. Cranky as usual, hesaid a quick hello to Pascal. Once they were both ready and seated in car number 357, the security controls turned on and the beat assignment in hand, they left the grounds of the police station.
As usual, Pascal, happy to get into action, never failed to find a reason to go on about how great the profession was. His partner kept sinking further into resentment. He was sick of all the Black and Arab pests, all these people that had to come into the world in such great numbers, just so that they could piss off the rest of us, and worst of all everyone hates us, you would think that we were the bad guys in this crazy scenario. They had a relatively calm evening and night, mostly identity checks, conflicts between minors, a routine patrol. About half an hour toward the end of their shift, late in the evening while they were taking a break at a stop sign to get their last wind, a male individual, Black, by all appearances very intoxicated came staggering up to the patrol car and started urinating on the front of the hood. Realizing that his partner was already out of control, Pascal Froment immediately got out of the car to defuse the situation. He knew all too well how situations like these could escalate pretty fast into something truly fatal. He had better take charge of the situation and not waste a second.
Youâll soon be going before the judge. Donât even think you can get out of this with your bullshit African nonsense about sorcerers and God knows what. Your parents, your tragic childhood, your neighborhood, and all that crap. Weâve heard it all before and no one gives a shit! Youâre getting the maximum. Delinquents like you always wind up caving in and confessing.
Before leaving, the lady officer, even more beautiful than during the interrogation, held a towel out to me. I can finally wash up. She also managed to get me some clean clothes. I need to stay calm. Sheâs smiling. I plan to do exactly as she says. She has my word. I almost burst into tears when she helped me to clean away all that filth in the prison. I had one hand holding up my pants with no belt and the other scrubbing the prison floor, all under the watchful gazeand mockery of the other officers. My fairy came with a floor cloth, a bucket, and a pair of rubber gloves, as a real gesture of humanity.
She then escorts me with two other officers to the shower stalls. All of a sudden I feel like putting an end to this entire comedy by taking myself out. I could grab one of those guns and make the heroic gesture of blowing my skull wide open or just bash my head against the wall until Iâm unconscious. But of course I canât even drum up that kind of courage right now. In fact, I feel weary. The nightmare of these past hours has definitely sobered me up. Iâm moving so feebly. The proximity to the kind police officer has so completely warmed my heart that Iâm finding the strength to keep going. I undress under the vigilant eye of all these officers who are keeping a close eye on me. They are trained to be ready for any and
Once Pascal arrived at the station, he was basically with his second family. First, he went and changed. He had a few polite exchanges in the locker room and caught up on how things had gone down from those coming in from the previous shift. One police officer was especially amazed by Pascalâs unwaveringly good mood. He responded with a huge smile. This was exactly what he was proud of. He waited around a little bit. His partner had mastered the art of being systemically late for his shift, but Pascal didnât hold that against him. After a good fifteen minutes, he finally showed up and had to listen to a good dressing down from the police commissioner. Cranky as usual, hesaid a quick hello to Pascal. Once they were both ready and seated in car number 357, the security controls turned on and the beat assignment in hand, they left the grounds of the police station.
As usual, Pascal, happy to get into action, never failed to find a reason to go on about how great the profession was. His partner kept sinking further into resentment. He was sick of all the Black and Arab pests, all these people that had to come into the world in such great numbers, just so that they could piss off the rest of us, and worst of all everyone hates us, you would think that we were the bad guys in this crazy scenario. They had a relatively calm evening and night, mostly identity checks, conflicts between minors, a routine patrol. About half an hour toward the end of their shift, late in the evening while they were taking a break at a stop sign to get their last wind, a male individual, Black, by all appearances very intoxicated came staggering up to the patrol car and started urinating on the front of the hood. Realizing that his partner was already out of control, Pascal Froment immediately got out of the car to defuse the situation. He knew all too well how situations like these could escalate pretty fast into something truly fatal. He had better take charge of the situation and not waste a second.
Youâll soon be going before the judge. Donât even think you can get out of this with your bullshit African nonsense about sorcerers and God knows what. Your parents, your tragic childhood, your neighborhood, and all that crap. Weâve heard it all before and no one gives a shit! Youâre getting the maximum. Delinquents like you always wind up caving in and confessing.
Before leaving, the lady officer, even more beautiful than during the interrogation, held a towel out to me. I can finally wash up. She also managed to get me some clean clothes. I need to stay calm. Sheâs smiling. I plan to do exactly as she says. She has my word. I almost burst into tears when she helped me to clean away all that filth in the prison. I had one hand holding up my pants with no belt and the other scrubbing the prison floor, all under the watchful gazeand mockery of the other officers. My fairy came with a floor cloth, a bucket, and a pair of rubber gloves, as a real gesture of humanity.
She then escorts me with two other officers to the shower stalls. All of a sudden I feel like putting an end to this entire comedy by taking myself out. I could grab one of those guns and make the heroic gesture of blowing my skull wide open or just bash my head against the wall until Iâm unconscious. But of course I canât even drum up that kind of courage right now. In fact, I feel weary. The nightmare of these past hours has definitely sobered me up. Iâm moving so feebly. The proximity to the kind police officer has so completely warmed my heart that Iâm finding the strength to keep going. I undress under the vigilant eye of all these officers who are keeping a close eye on me. They are trained to be ready for any and
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