FRIED CHICKEN - JACKET
PART 3 - CHAPTER 3
The closer the sirens get, the more I realize that I can’t escape them. Only one road leads to the city, and even if I managed to reach it, I couldn’t get down without running into their ugly faces. I need a plan. I run into the garage, hoping to find a solution. I scan its content with one look: an old two-horse car under a tarpaulin, a more or less tidy workbench where car parts and various tools are lying around, some dismantled furniture in a corner, a gas can. This last one will do the trick. I grab it and run into the kitchen. The sirens are close, too close. I hear them entering the property. I grab an empty vodka bottle, fill it with gasoline, grab an old tea towel and that’s it. Luckily, there is only one car with two cops inside. I wait for them to get out, I won’t worsen my sentence. While they enter the house and smash the front door, I go behind and with a big gesture, I throw the flaming cocktail under the Scenic (editor’s note: type of car used by the police in France). Without turning around, I run towards my car, leaving behind me a magnificent blaze.
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