TV Narration - The Wire

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This is a narration piece for the hit TV show The Wire for my client Hollywood Access Service. This group produces TV narration of hit TV shows for the visually-impaired. Users download these pieces from the internet so they can follow their favorite shows.

Whether it is the chill Gen Y'er, the edgy Gen X fella or the all-american guy next door, This demo has something to offer for just about any project... including yours! Featured styles: believable, amusing, upbeat, conversational, guy next door, approachable, edgy, authoritative, hard-sell, soft sell, cowboy, Southern American, inspirational, inspired and motivational.

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Vocal Characteristics



Voice Age

Middle Aged (35-54)


North American (General) North American (US Mid-Atlantic) North American (US West Coast - California, Portland)


Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
train draws closer. It's light shining. A McNulty's face drunk detective staggers off the tracks just before it reaches him. Bunks, exasperated gaze follows McNulty, who staggers to the car's driver's side. His eyes have closed. Opening the door. He climbs in now. In the hospital, fluorescent lights glared down on two rows of hospital beds, separated by curtains. Bubs stands at the foot of one bed. His tearful gaze fixed on its patient team approaches from the opposite end of the room. She wearily sets her hands on her hips, but you still locked up. His gaze remains on the patient along the middle in three months. All right. She nods at the unconscious patient. Who is it for E. T Tube, and Johnny's mouth connects him to a ventilator. A C collar holds his neck in line, and he wears a bandage around his head. Bubs sadly shrugs his brow. You're still working drugs. Still staring at his friend. He tears up downtown. Yeah, got something, boy cocking her head. Chema gives him a puzzled look. Later in the bullpen did homicide. The sergeant rest is chubby. Hand on a cubicle partition bunk sits hunched at his desk alone in the cubicle. Now the detectives convene in a break room. Church deacon. That was good to me. What can I say? Sad enough with the kids being orphaned and everything. Voters from bunks. That's Chema follows the guys through the bullpen. They're yours. Yeah. So good thing that living like your mom, Maurice Levy, just posted by the elevators, McNulty walks to the divisions door. He opens it for the balding lawyer Hoog lowers as he had straight for the interrogation room. The defense never rests. Dragging me from the Levy family preserve on a Friday night. My apologies. If that made brisket good when served hot one or two, your client lied. He enters the room. The front stop writing now just bunk takes D'Angelo's letter. Calls his lawyer. That's almost the end of the interview. Your client gave no statement. We took that statement. He just decided voluntary to the victim's family To say that up. Charge you No charge, but got up. Go walk. Levy takes DeAngelo by the arm and escorts amount. If you don't say anything, you don't do anything. You don't write anything. Do you hear me? Shut up. I have to tell people the same ******* thing. He gives his client a chiding slap on the head. DeAngelo glares have been melted before exiting. The detectives smiles broadly. See, that's what I don't get about the drug. Why can't you sell the ship? Walk the **** away. You know what I mean? Never. Nelson. This country gets sold without people shooting each other behind it on the terraces, one body after another. That little boy I shot in the barbershop West Lombard last summer. One ******* chases another into Teddy's house and natural empties. And nine ******** argument over 20 missing gel caps. Thes expression turns anguished. Kid getting his first haircut is one in the eye. Remember that? **** that bunk returns with a legal pad. Do day shoot up a barbershop? No, they did not have to do that. The Angelos gaze remains averted. Name was just fights back. Tears. McNulty. Ice bunk. I think he had bunk eyes. Kema do that bunk, holds up a framed photo, then places it on the table in front of D. It shows a trio of beaming African American Children posing playfully. No mom, no or Jesus. DeAngelo glances away, then stares remorsefully bunk leans closer. Tell you what I think you should do. D'Angelo No, because I I think you wanted a man to get shot. Had anything to do with shooting, But I think you could, uh, just sit here for a moment to collect your thoughts. You know, get your **** together. And then I think might be a good thing for you to write a little letter to those Children. You let him know You Sorry. They're not gonna have anyone left, you know? I mean, just say something. Tell him how you personally think your uncle Maybe he got it wrong this time because it's wrong that they lost their daddy behind. What happened? You know, D struggles to stay composed. I mean, do you know that you feel bunk eyes him expectantly. He turns his face avoiding the detective. Sad gaze. He shifts his jaw. Sullenly nine dot net Mincy. Just say what's in your heart