It's a busy night at the station; it's Wednesday, which is known by many to be the night of the clown cars. On any given Wednesday night, you're bound to have at least three and a half full crews ready to go. But, of course, nothing ever happens.
The county is quiet, save a few fire alarms here and there, but they all end unspectacularly.
I sit on the couch, yawning as I work on a cross-stitch. My fingers are numb, but I push the needle through again, watching as the teal thread…
Continue