The smoke was neither thick nor black. Not exactly a high priority rescue. But the firefighter carried the damsel in distress from her apartment anyway. Her request.
“Thank God, you’re here,” she said, her sleep mask still scrunched up on her head.
Where else would he be? It was his third visit in the last two months.
“I don’t know what happened,” she continued.
He did. She decided to take a nap while a forgotten batch of cookies caught flame in her oven.
He lowered her down onto a gurney, smiled.
If she wanted a date, she could just ask.
The Weekday One Hundred 