Demo -- Tribute to Sam Spade -- 1940's-1950's Private Investigator Narrator
Description
Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Middle Aged (35-54)Accents
North American (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
It was eight o'clock in my office and things weren't too busy. The steaming, half filled cup of coffee set beside me aside to brown cigars in an ashtray. A didn't finish. The thick stench of smoke filled the heirs. There always did. Things could be quite stressful. In my office, I ran a small private detective agency in the seedy side of Carbon. It wasn't easy to work, but it was work. Yeah, it's not like I didn't get my attraction. Carbon was a farming community. The closest thing I get to real detective work was the occasional Raider murder in the ghettos of than that. It was petty livestock thievery, jet dealers and land feuds. Most of the town thinks they should just join the sheriff's department. Like the rest of say, I just get in the way. So we stand, They ask. I refuse. I like being my own boss, running my own business. The business wasn't good this time around. Things were usually slow, but not this slow. I think bad words being said about me, and I don't know what to do. If I didn't get a job soon, I'd be forced to close down no caps means no living down here. It'll be a long day in the streets before I could scrape up enough scratched afford my own place. It's not like I was loose with my money to start with. I lived through my office. Well, we'll come up with something. I've been sitting in this chair all day anyway as well. Close up shop and think.