As John Anderson left his precinct, the sun had yet to rise over the horizon. It had been a slow night. Two drunks, a few rowdy kids, and an old man unable to read a speedometer were about as good as he could typically hope for. Even if it had gone worse, the drive home would have been all he needed to make everything worth it.
The route took him past a tranquil forest on one side and a beautiful ocean view on the other. He would put on a CD of classical music and lose himself in the atmosphere of it all. Near the end of this journey was the tunnel.
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