LAFD, 2024.
Dear Diary,
The children have adopted a lobster from the seafood restaurant two blocks away, and his name is Mr Krabs. There was a debate about naming him Larry the Lobster, but that debate was put to rest because one of their dead grandfathers carried the same name. For legal reasons, I will not name drop.
Someone turned my default oven temperature up to 200, and I burnt my lasagna. We had to respond to our next case on an empty stomach, and the children were not satisfied. I bought duct tape on the way back. No one shall mess with my oven settings now.
Officers from LAPD dropped by at dinnertime, bringing dessert. They talked about the higher-ups taking people away from them to work on a confidential case, something to do with a human trafficking ring.
One of the dispatchers has been flirting with us lately. It's getting fruity, and I really don't feel like answering my radio anymore if all I'm going to hear is "911, I'm gay and I consider this an emergency".
Overall, situation's not going good, but at least it's going. If it works, if they work, I'm not going to change anything.
End.
