The familiar blaring siren, getting louder and louder as it approaches, then slowly fading into the day as it leaves. But this time it stays there. The dizzying red light penetrates through your white striped living room curtains. You completely ignore the one going home in Parson’s design studio and peek through the shades. Several fire trucks perched in the middle of your street and calm firemen walking through the glass doors of the building across the street, which has lights on in nearly every window is what you see. First floor neighbors step outside and kids run, then hold tight to their parents’ hands. The flashes project huddled shadows of teens who thought they were cool enough to walk out on an autumn night in a t-shirt on the brick wall behind them. Out of annoyance you wish it were a false alarm so the Squad 1 would hop in their magic school bus and slam the doors and turn off the bloody blinding lights. Out of adventure and want to have a story to tell, you hope something has happened. Out of public respect, you act worried and scared. Don’t start tearing, too dramatic. Then the things in buff black suits and chunky helmets calmly walk out, lower the LADDER 122, roll up the dirty snake, slam the doors and drive off. The empty feeling in the middle of the street quickly disappears as the cars who bothered to wait behind it zoom past. Relief and disappointment sweeps over you.