Нужна помощь в оценке перевода с русского на английский

С английским у меня отношения сложились не самые худшие: тех.литературу по кодингу могу читать с листа, редко прибегая к помощи переводчика, но с художкой дела обстоят не так радужно. Решил потестить нейронку ChatGPT 3.5 в плане перевода с русского на английский. Интересно, насколько читабельно это получилось:

From the early morning, heavy rain poured down, a cold autumn rain. The wind didn't make things any more comfortable either. It wasn't a hurricane, but some gusts made even a big man like Philippe sway when he got out of the car to relieve himself. Jane was getting fed up with these constant trips of the conductor, especially considering their reason: a pile of beer cans was piled up on the back seat. Empty and unopened, they lay all together, and when Philippe reached for the next one, the process took on the appearance of some sort of lottery -- would he be able to pull out a full can on the first try?

The smell in the cabin was appropriate: spilled beer, stale air, and the scent of rainwater. The heater was on full blast, aggressively consuming the fuel element charge. But it didn't express its dissatisfaction, as the conductor was touchy and could easily turn the car around and head back to the city.

The car was parked on the edge of a high sea cliff: down towards the water, a narrow strip of stony beach led to a rusty spiral staircase. After the next excursion, Philippe slumped into the driver's seat and said:

"We've been sitting here for four hours already. I'm tired, and the beer is running out."

"Patience, my friend, patience," she replied with a slight smirk, but he started to get worked up:

"I'm not your friend, that's one. And patience is for weaklings and women, that's two. Although, you're a woman, you know," he laughed at his own joke, and now it was her turn to get angry.

"Philippe, you know how I feel about those kinds of statements. Enough."

"Okay, okay. Sorry," he reached between the seats and pulled out another can. There was a light click, then the hiss of gas. He commented, "that's already the third full one on the first try. Today I'm definitely lucky. And, I repeat, I'm tired. Maybe we should turn back?"

"We've already spent a lot of time here, let's wait a little longer. I don't want the trip to be in vain."

"And are they really going to show up? Maybe this time it will wash up somewhere else?"

"Today everything should go according to plan. We're still within the calculated time," Jane looked at the car terminal screen, which now only displayed the time. Four white digits, separated by a colon, on a black background. When she confidently mentioned the plan, she wasn't lying: today everything should work out well.

Her contact at the Maritime and Coastal Guard Agency had informed her that an unmanned frigate had crashed in the Channel overnight, heading from Somalia towards Murmansk. When they began to investigate the ownership of the ship, it was discovered that the owner's information had been falsified, which almost certainly indicated illegal cargo. He immediately contacted her, and she didn't hesitate: she found Philippe, they loaded the equipment together and rushed through the rain to the coast, where part of the cargo from the sinking ship was supposed to be washed up according to their calculations. On the way, her informant sent her a short video taken by a drone, which showed how the wind tore the cargo capsules from the frigate's deck, three out of five masts were broken, and the sails with solar panels were torn to shreds. Such a frigate usually carried two hundred to two hundred and fifty capsules with passengers, so something had to reach the shore. The storm, which had not subsided, on the one hand hindered the capsules from reaching the coast, on the other hand, the coast guard ships had not yet ventured out to sea: there were no volunteers willing to risk their lives for illegal cargo.

She launched the drone control application on her comm: three devices were flying along the coast over a seven-kilometer stretch, recording on their cameras everything that washed up on the shore. The drone's fuel batteries were consuming energy in emergency mode, fighting the wind. But there was enough charge for a couple of hours, even with such a high consumption.

Philippe tossed the empty can onto the back seat. One thing she was grateful to him for was his ability to drink neatly: he didn't slurp, he didn't gulp, he didn't smack his lips. Only this talent generated in her almost sympathy for the conductor, but he immediately destroyed it:

"Why did you specifically take these 'cans'?" he said. "You could have bought them from the Epstein brothers, and your brain wouldn't have to deal with all this fucking circus. I figure you wouldn't have overpaid much. Just without all this fucking hassle."

"Do you need my money, Philippe?"

Я сам, если честно, читая этот отрывок на английском, два раза искал перевод выражений и один раз слова. Но мне интересно мнение людей с хорошим уровнем английского, насколько это удобоваримо. Заранее благодарен всем отозвавшимся.