/what/ - ...

The only book I've read since I was a teen is the bible, not counting small excerpts, manuals, Wikipedia pages, random girl's AO3 fanfics, some of the Natural History of Oxfordshire (1600s old English "science"), Ancient Egyptian Ipuwer Papyrus, schizo manifestos, etc.

Shoulder first, I barge through the back door of Serpico's, a
pizza place a few blocks from the Allenhurst Beach. New Jersey is cold and disgusting. I have no idea why anyone with the option to
leave wouldn't do so.
Three cops sitting at the table by the window, laughing and
scarfing down plain slices, on the house of course. They have a big
night ahead of them. Using four individual squad cars to detain a
couple fifteen-year-olds who took the railroad shortcut home from
the beach. Hesitantly releasing an old woman who's been pulled
over for doing five miles-per-hour over the limit. Conducting
delicate recon operations on the basketball courts. The life of a cop
here in the infinitely crime-ridden, beachfront city of Allenhurst is
nothing short of mortifying. I know. I know. It's so typical to hate
the police, but I swear I have better reasons than the unwashed,
dreadlocked masses.

I barge in through the back door and lean against the tile wall,
a corner just before the restaurant opens up into the main dining
area. I pull a Glock 19 (extended magazine, thirty 9mm bullets)
from underneath my belt and rack the slide. I wrap my arms around
the corner, stiffened at full extension, and the rest of my body
follows in perfect collusion. First shot is dead accurate, killing the
cop who was most likely to notice me entering. Second shot is the
same, another down. The third shot is rushed and strays wide. I've
missed the third cop entirely and he's quickly fingering the level-
three retention locks on his holster. He's carrying a Glock 17, the
slightly larger version of mine. He's also still yet to get it off his belt