Wednesday, May 10, 2006

The sound of sirens

There was a firehouse at the edge of the condo complex where I grew up. My childhood home was also down the street from a hospital. The police department was another two minutes down the road. I used to follow the firemen around on my bike, watching them run drills (there was very rarely a real fire to attend to, other than the random, errant BBQ grill). Sirens are nothing new to me. Car alarms blaring in the night bug me, but an fire truck screaming by doesn't phase me too much (in fact, I can usually tell if a truck is a fire truck or not by the way it sounds while idling). They become background noise. Unless they begin to multiply.

I've been noticing sirens lately. More than usual.

They tend to be mainly police sirens, with occasional ambulances and fire trucks thrown into the mix. All this (mainly) citizen information gathering is making me more aware of just what those sirens might've been for. And how close they might be to home.

Such a contrast to the suburban town where I spend my days as a wage slave. The police spend noontime making sure that no one obstructs the crosswalks in the center of town.

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