Droidzville
Today was a diligent day for us, so the light-blue Droidzville Office was definitely busy. I entered the building, the same, familiar routine for work; marching up the stairs swiftly, whirling around the corner down the first right hall, searching for the second door on the left with a golden plaque reading: "Mr. Sambob". This office was home sweet home for me, most of the time. I stayed in here for long times at some days. I'd have to say, I'm kind of dedicated. Well, without me there just might be many problems around the city, or even dangers. Now, it was time for work, just like every other morning.
I cautiously dug around in my pocket, found the dark, silver key, and entered my office. I slowly reached toward the left and lifted the light switch up. My office was spacious, yet organized and neat. From the perspective of you just pushing the office door open, you would see two blue-blackish shelves on the left and right side of the room, tan file cabinets, a smooth, cedar- wooden desk, papers and notes scattered everywhere, and a high-tec, valuable laptop resting on the desk. I went across to the other side of the room, scooted the black office chair over, and sat comfortable in it.
I was wondering what work I had to do today, so wandered around the desk until I finally found something. I ripped open the envelope and found out that it was the blimp records from yesterday. I folded the piece of paper open and read it. I'd say I was decent at finding errors in the blimp flight. If you rolled around on the streets wondering if someone could find out if there were any errors on this page, they might call you a lunatic, a psycho, well, you get the point: it was difficult to get used to. I checked the blimp records closely in detail, even reached for my reading glasses and slid them on. I scanned through the tan-white sheet of paper looking for any slight of mistake. I was always anxious, every day about these records. Just one slight mistake could mean something huge is happening, or going to happen soon. It's not just something you should slide away, these records or even possible errors were important.
I cautiously dug around in my pocket, found the dark, silver key, and entered my office. I slowly reached toward the left and lifted the light switch up. My office was spacious, yet organized and neat. From the perspective of you just pushing the office door open, you would see two blue-blackish shelves on the left and right side of the room, tan file cabinets, a smooth, cedar- wooden desk, papers and notes scattered everywhere, and a high-tec, valuable laptop resting on the desk. I went across to the other side of the room, scooted the black office chair over, and sat comfortable in it.
I was wondering what work I had to do today, so wandered around the desk until I finally found something. I ripped open the envelope and found out that it was the blimp records from yesterday. I folded the piece of paper open and read it. I'd say I was decent at finding errors in the blimp flight. If you rolled around on the streets wondering if someone could find out if there were any errors on this page, they might call you a lunatic, a psycho, well, you get the point: it was difficult to get used to. I checked the blimp records closely in detail, even reached for my reading glasses and slid them on. I scanned through the tan-white sheet of paper looking for any slight of mistake. I was always anxious, every day about these records. Just one slight mistake could mean something huge is happening, or going to happen soon. It's not just something you should slide away, these records or even possible errors were important.