Today was a good day. My first shift at a brand new job went well and I clocked out content with my new career path. Driving home long past rush hour, the city lights and ELO on my stereo were the perfect closing to a long but rewarding twelve hours. Piloting my trusty little ride BassMaam into the driveway, I was parked and ready for puppy kisses before realizing SteelerDude had cleaned the cluttered garage to make room for her.
I didn't drive in. Puppy kisses are more important than getting back in the car; it's too warm for frost. Minutes later I heard single sharp pop but glanced out the window and saw nothing. Damn kids. It wasn't a window that faces the driveway.
I took the dogs out back and started hearing sirens. There were a lot, and they were getting closer. When the dogs ran in the house and up to their beds, I got worried. "I think those sirens are coming here," I told SD. By here, I meant our subdivision, possibly our street. I opened the front door and was confronted with a plume of smoke coming from ... my driveway? The lights and sirens were here. HERE.
A firefighter in full gear is standing next to my banana tree. Spotting me on the porch, he calls, "GET BACK." I do.
