A typical day for a police officer

— "¡Soy americano! ¡No, espera!" — the girl, pressing her face against the yellow Lamborghini, was desperately trying to explain herself. Her voice trembled, and her wrists burned from the steel handcuffs that pinned her harshly to the car. — "¡Por favor, escúchame! ¡No lo entiendes, soy americano! ¡Este es mi auto!"

— "Damn, she's loud," — muttered the second officer, shifting his gaze from the radio to his partner. — "We need a translator."

— "Screw the translator," — growled the first, tightening the handcuffs even more, causing the girl to cry out sharply. — "Shut her up. Got any ID? No? Then she’s coming to the station until we sort this out."

Dan, the second officer, just shook his head, staring at the slender hands cuffed behind the detainee’s back, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.

— "Another one of those 'hot' chicks from South America, huh? They all freak out like this when they realize they're in trouble."

But the girl wouldn’t give up. Tossing her straight black hair back, she kept shouting desperately:

— "¡Soy Jake Adams! ¡Americano! ¡No soy chica! ¡No soy... no soy ella!" — Her cries were drowned out by the honk of a passing car, but one word — "Americano" — caught Dan's attention.

— "Hold up, did she say something about America?" — He frowned, turning towards her, trying to catch something in the torrent of Spanish words.

But the first officer had already grown tired of the fuss. He yanked her shoulder sharply, pinning her even harder against the door of the bright yellow Lamborghini. Her short skirt hitched up even higher, revealing slender thighs.

— "Hey, what the hell are you squealing about?" — he shouted, glaring at her thin legs in high heels, trying his best not to look at the tears suddenly spilling from her brown eyes. — "Don’t understand English, huh? Fine," — and he pushed her harder, making her groan.

— "Officer," — a female voice suddenly sounded from behind, and both cops turned in unison. A girl stood on the sidewalk, holding up her phone, filming them from a distance. — "Maybe you should stop treating her like that? She’s just confused or something."

— "Yeah, whatever," — the first officer waved her off. — "I said we’ll take her to the station, we’ll figure it out there."

But the girl struggled even harder, trying to explain herself in broken English:

— "No... No arrest! My name is Jake, you... arrest... wrong person! Wrong!"

Both officers froze. Dan exchanged a bewildered glance with his partner.

— "Did she just call herself Jake?" — he snorted, trying to suppress a laugh.

— "Who the hell knows, but let's not discuss it here," — the first grumbled, but his gaze drifted down to the ID hanging from the pocket of her mini-skirt. He pulled it out, looked at the photo... and cursed under his breath.

The card read: "Gloria Espinosa."

— "Gloria Espinosa?" — He glanced back at the girl and slowly, with growing sarcasm, said: — "Well, Gloriella, you’re coming with us."

— "No, es falso! No, not Gloria!" — she shouted, her voice trembling with anger and despair. — "¡Esto es un error! ¡No soy Gloria, soy Jake! ¡Oficial, este es mi auto! ¡No lo entiendes, soy el dueño! ¡Yo era un hombre! I — he. Man. Oficial, you do wrong!"

— "Looks like she’s not just illegal, but nuts too," — he concluded, shoving the ID back. — "Alright, ma'am, enough theatrics. You’re coming with us."

But instead of the expected compliance, the girl suddenly dropped to her knees, jerking so abruptly she almost dislocated her wrist in the handcuffs.

— "No, por favor, don’t arrest!" — she cried out, but her voice was weakening, breaking into hysterical sobs.

Dan sighed, shaking his head:

— "What a day…"