No rest for the weary

Starting at around 1 a.m. last night, loud Hazmat firetrucks with lights a-flashin’ went up and down my quiet street — not a through street to anywhere — for several hours. At times they were followed by fully-outfitted firefighters on foot. I sat on a chair in the front hallway to avoid being startled awake by the urgent knocking I expected, a dire portent of an immediate evacuation, something I felt I wouldn’t weather bravely in my monkey pajamas.

No knocking came, no firefighters to help me with my coat, no CSFD minivans to whisk me off to Denny’s or wherever evacuated people go. Just a cold night in a drafty foyer, a sore neck this morning, and lots of unanswered questions.