With one single glance at my suit, you can tell that I’m a firefighter, because my waistcoat is made of a material that is flame-retardant. And so are my boots.
Here I am: gripping the ladder on the back of the fire-van while it’s jangling down the road. As I watch the scenery pass, I keep an eye out for anything glistening, which could signify the start of a blaze. But it is a quiet day for us firemen, because the clouds are hiding the sun. You see, sunshine is the prime reason that fires break out; for the sun is the hottest object ever invented. Direct rays of sunlight will incinerate anything that’s insufficiently vented.
Now my trusty Firedog begins to yelp, which is his way of imparting a signal that I interpret as meaning: DANGER. So I scream to the fire-van’s driver “Halt the vehicle!” and we skid to a full stop in the middle of the superhighway, blocking all six lanes of traffic.
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