That cold January night, I was growing sick of my life in the city I lived. There I was walking home at one in the morning a tiring practice at the theatre. I was having trouble dealing with my job. On my way home, I thought seriously about (give) up the life in this awful place.
While walking down the empty street under tall buildings, I felt very small and cold. "Run!" I said to (Ⅰ) and began to do so. About a block from my flat, I heard a noise behind me. I turned (quick), but the
street was empty. The noise had made me nervous, I started to run faster. I didn't realize what the noise had been I reached my flat. It had been my wallet falling to the street. I wasn't cold or tired any more. I ran back to the street. Although I searched for fifteen minutes, my wallet couldn't (find) anywhere. Just as I was about to give up, I heard a rubbish truck stop next to me. A voice called from the truck (drive), "Alisa Camacho?" I thought I was dreaming. The door opened and a man jumped out. could this man know my name? "Is this what you're looking for?" he asked, holding up a small wallet.
It was nearly 3 a.m. by the time I got into bed. I wouldn't get much sleep that night. But I had got my wallet back and got back some enjoyment of city life. That's the most important thing, I think.
