New Developments in The Incompetency of The American Police System, and A Shocking Discovery This September Morn

While these are new developments, they aren't good. 

Louie was found today...he had a gunshot wound to his head and was dumped in front of the courthouse. I'm in shock. Who would do this? Who would shoot a pregnant person in their head, and dump them like a piece of trash?? A goddamn twat would, pardon my French. All of my charges are dropped, but I'd rather have a laundry list of charges than my partner with a bullet wound to the head. 

Louie's in a coma, and in the hospital. I'm just at a loss on what to do next.  What does this mean for my baby? What does this mean for my future? I've been on leave from the library (under threat of being fired if the charges went to court), and I'm scared. What if Louie dies? What if the baby dies? What if Louie doesn't wake up before 9 months, and I have to take care of the baby by myself? I can't take care of a goddamn baby by myself!! But don't worry, dear readers, don't worry. I'm a tough son of a bitch, and so's Louie. They put a bullet in his head, and his heart just kept on beating. We'll make it through these tough times.

In addition to this uncertainty regarding my baby's life, and my partner's life, the police have no leads. I'm baffled at how a gaggle of dumb pieces of shit could congregate, and serendipitously work the same job together, inconveniencing everyone they come in contact with. I swear, even the front office workers don't know what in the hell's going on. I was in that goddamn lobby for hours, waiting to speak to an officer, so naturally, I was scrolling through my phone. You know when you're on Instagram, and not connected to Wi-Fi, and you can only look at like 5 posts, and that's it? You know what I'm talking about, right? As I digress, this happened to me, so I waltzed up to the front desk. "What's the Wi-Fi code?' I asked, in a neutral tone. "Uhhhmmmm..." one of the women said, imbetween smacking gum, "Teresa, what's the Wi-Fi code?" she shouted at another woman. The woman shrugged and went about her business. "Uhmmm, I don't know it, so you might not be able to get it. Maybe ask the person you're meeting," the gum smacker said, and turned back to her monitor. 

I wanted to kick her ass right then and there, but I maintained my composure. Instead of inflicting violence, I went outside, and smoked a cigarette. About 45 minutes later, I met with an officer, and 2 hours after that, we were done. Upon exit, I perked up, and asked the officer if he happened to know the Wi-Fi password, to which he replied: "I don't know, ask the front desk girls, they know what's going on around here". I could've screamed until my larynx broke. I simply nodded and thanked him. On my way home, I smoked the rest of cigarettes, and tried to forget the awful experience. 

The next week, I came back to talk to another police officer. He asked me what had happened to my partner, as he "couldn't access my files". I told him he'd been kidnapped, and then found shot. But you know what he said? In a flat, monotone, non-jokey voice, he said "I'd highly advise against that".

I'll make sure to tell him when he wakes up.