This was for my detective fiction class this semester. We were supposed to write in the voice of Raymond Chandler:
"The chimes rang in the chipper sing-song of a battered old parakeet, and the heavy oak door creaked as it admitted the occupants with a blast of October rain. The smell of damp earth mixed with the heady aroma of strong coffee, and the chill made me wrap my fingers around my mug tighter. The couple clung to each other and laughed at the grand adventure of their own love story. I hunkered back into my seat. Not my client then. The room was busy for the middle of the afternoon; I wondered what it was about Wednesdays that attracted rain and misfortune. The chimes struck again but stopped abruptly like everything else in the room. A tall drink of a woman walked into the coffee shop desperate and fierce and bracing herself for trouble as she casually withdrew a gun from her handbag. It was a good thing I was thirsty."
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