Once apon a time there was a black man named Tyrone. Tyrone was innocently walking along when he noticed a house with the door wide open. He walked over to the house to see if anyone was inside. He shouted from outside the house but there was no reply. Tyrone was worried, as he suspected, the owner of the house had gone away and left the door open. As tyrone went to shut the door, a gust of wind blew his hand into it, breaking the lock. Oh dear he thought as he stepped inside. He then went to find a toolkit to repair the door. As he walked through the house, he noticed some seemingly damaged items that he thought needed repairing. An ipod, a T.V, a radio, some keys, and one hundred pounds. He was about to carry these items back to his workshop of repairs when suddenly the owner came home. "Oh good," he thought. They will be so pleased to see the good deed I am doing." But, as the joyful owner ran to thank Tyrone, they tripped, and accidentaly hit their face on Tyrone's crow bar, (which he was carrying for repairing purposes) and as they fell, the crowbar slipped out of his hand and repeatedly bashed them on the back of the head. As Tyrone was about to call an ambulance, he remembered that he left the iron on, and so he quickly fled the scene.
That, your honour, is my case for the defendant.
That, your honour, is my case for the defendant.
