Random Crap that isn't art

Writer's notebook go brrrrr

I walked into the dull, musty room. There was a cracked chandelier just barely hanging from the ceiling, an oak wood desk that looked like it could snap in half at any minute, and book shelves that held books and antiques that were years old. They weren't wrong when they said this place was an old dump. That's why it was the perfect place for a kill. There in the center of the room, was marked where the body supposedly was. The wooden floor looked a bit stained with a crimson color where it was marked, so I guess the department was right about something.
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I was sitting at my desk in my office waiting for my first suspect to arrive. I adjusted the prop-up on my desk that said my name. Blaza Comneer, Police Detective. I went by my first name, and I was proud to have that title. I've enjoyed my job pretty thoroughly, apart from some cases getting screwed up and unsolved. I've investigated many crimes of many types throughout my six years of having this job including robbery, vandalism, fraud, burglary, assault, amongst others.

I started tapping my fingers on my half-wooden, half-metal, painted black desk. Sliding my notepad over to me, I picked up the navy blue, plastic pen on my right, and wrote down the name of who should be the first subject. I then started writing down tidbits of information I've been told about the character, but my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of an opening door. It was squeaky, intermittent, and in desperate need of oil. The first subject came in with the help of one of my coworkers, who went by their first name as well, Dylan. I called him 'Dyno' though, as when he was a kid he was obsessed with dinosaurs.

This is only one writer's notebook, which you are required to do at least 250 words, max 350, so this will be updated like every week :>