Friday night around 11 pm. A fleet of frantic fire trucks come screaming down our street, sirens wailing, lights blazing and horns honking, eager to plough through the traffic morass of University Place. Their noisy cavalcade sets off about six car alarms in the process before they manage to shove through, sprinting to their imperiled destination. The screaming sirens slowly fade into the night and the car alarms shush their clattering caterwaul one by one. Silence is slowly restored. A minute or so later, we hear an emphatically chirped declaration from our two-year old daughter's room.
"No Thank You, Fire Engine!"
That's my girl!
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