Blazé

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I write this in the middle of the night because I was woken up by a lot of noise in the hallway of my building. Then I was even more woken up by the pounding on my door. Then I was even more woken up by the smell of smoke.

As I left the building in my brightly coloure pajamas, my winter coat, and for some reason cruel to my feet a pair of Crocs, firefighters were axing down a door across the hall and down one. Waiting outside, 45-60 minutes, thereabouts, smoke was coming from the window of this unit, at least one person got taken away in an ambulance, and a charred futon mattress was dragged into the alley I evacuated to.

And also Dirk, my terrible friend, coincidentally drove by on his way to drop off friends and joked that he set my building on fire. He’s going to get a nads-kicking when I get the chance.

Timing of fires is never convenient, but the middle of a Saturday night/the wee Sunday morning hours makes a good sleep a moot goal on a weekend when I can’t sleep in either day for their own separate reasons. The timing is also of literary coincidence because the annual test of the building fire alarm is scheduled for Tuesday. The alarm didn’t go off. That’s why the firefighters were pounding at my door.

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