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Employee Name: Gustafsson Bakrie Activity Description: Memasang Muffler pada mobil Flash Screenshot:

gaskann geng botakk!!

Apakah ini adalah pertama kali kamu membuat Character Story ? Ya Sudah berapa lama kamu main JG:RP? Kurang dari 1 bulan Apakah character ini baru kamu buat atau baru melakukan prosess Namechange ? Buat baru Apakah kamu memiliki account UCP selain yang kamu mainkan saat ini? Tidak Apakah kamu memiliki account Forum selain yang kamu pakai saat ini? Tidak Dimana tempat kamu bermain sekarang? Di rumah

Accepted, akan diprosess oleh High Admin

Saya refund 1000 component.

Accepted, akan diprosess oleh High Admin

Accepted, akan diprosess oleh High Admin

Contact : 887200 or ((PM Forum))

Character: Fernando_Medrano Waktu & Tanggal: 17/07/26 Barang yang dibutuhkan: Desert Eagle 245 Ammo dan Uang 500 Saya membutuhkan refund karena: Jadi saya dan rekan rekan saya terlibat baku tembak pihak lawan RP saya,dan ternyata salah satu dari pihak mereka menggunakan program pihak ketiga. Berikut adalah bukti yang berupa screenshot / video: Berikut adalah bukti chatlog:

mantap bg

Ada bukti terlapor untuk hal yang kamu katakan ini ?

Ini terlapornya sudah meminta maaf, dari kamunya mau di maafin apa terlapornya tetap ditindak ?

With the passing of yet another night, the familiar faces began to drift in again towards the old garage that they had known for decades. There was nothing that called them there, nothing to discuss, no meetings to attend, but just the routine of gathering in the same place. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Dean Crowe came by again with a cigarette hidden behind his ear before he nodded at the other men gathered. Some of them stood with backs against the doors of the garage, and some of them had taken a seat on top of an old car parked nearby. The conversation moved casually from job-hunting and car troubles to the closing down of yet another warehouse. Nobody sought to remedy the problems of Bridgeport, but just accepted them. The night turned darker and the streets around more deserted, but the same stories were being told and the same jokes told. While many had already left Bridgeport behind in search of better opportunities elsewhere, those who remained continued returning to the same garage every single night. ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ To anyone observing from afar, they appeared no different than a bunch of boys hanging out on another pointless evening outside a derelict garage. The people walking past ignored them and considered them a normal sight among the many other groups of young men leaning against the wall of the garage and chatting amongst themselves about anything ranging from work and their old cars. While the area had changed significantly over the years – with shops closing down and buildings falling into disrepair, along with the absence of many faces once familiar to them – they still maintained their usual routine. As long as one person would arrive at the spot, the others would come soon after. Nothing else seemed to matter as they sat there for hours, talking amongst themselves while occasionally laughing out loud. Once finished with yet another pointless evening, they finally extinguished their cigarettes and said goodbye to each other until the next day, which everyone knew required no confirmation of their meeting place. Bridgeport had been stripped of much, but one thing it could not strip was the people who still called it their own. Before ever hearing of Bridgeport Row, they were merely a bunch of old friends who were back in familiar territory.