Is this an okay way to start my book about my drug/alcohol using and troubled character?
The tap came quick at my cell, quicker than I thought they’d get back to me. My eyes slugged their way up to the suited officer, his knuckles against the bars. “Ms. Karatoni, your brother is here to pick you up,” I eyed that pretty badge clicked to his ugly uniform, “you’ve made bail.” Maneuvering around the man I walked into the lobby of the Police Station. Of course I saw Dixon standing there, slumped over the desk talking to the receptionist who I remember from when I was brought in earlier, in those metal circulation cutter braces. As I sauntered up behind them, she looked up with the same full smile, I mean identical. She looked like a Barbie, an old, over fed, fake, Barbie doll. My brother followed her line of gaze to me. From my worn out vans, to my tattered shorts and shirt, all the way up to my washed out make-up face. “Hey bro,” I smiled. this would be the beginning of the book
Nice start!
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