So I had just finished watching a movie from the Redbox when my neighbors and I had a spontaneous Get to Know Each Other Night, by which I mean that my apartment building was evacuated because it was on fire. It was all handled well; it was on the third floor with damage to two, perhaps three, apartments. None of the tenants were harmed. Give your prayers for the two Austin policemen who, in the finest tradition of fortitude, endured the smoke beat down some of the doors and make sure no one was in the adjoining apartments -- last word I heard before they went away was that they were doing fine. Being Brandon, I drafted a poem in my head as I was standing around waiting.
The Night My Apartment Building Caught Fire
The moon seemed to dance in the high, smoky sky.
Anon the wind rose, anon it would die.
A few stars shown clear, but the sky was dark,
no sound but the rustle of leaves in the park,
when, as a storm, first the sound, then the light,
pierced with a screaming the warmth of the night.
The firework-scent was strong in the air
as the smoke like a sheet floated down the long stair.
The breezes were fretting, the wind heaved a sigh.
The moon seemed to dance in the high, smoky sky.
My apartment was away from the fire, so I'm largely untouched by it all. There's still smokiness everywhere, and I'm allergic to smoke, so we'll see if I wake with a profound sinus headache in the morning, but that's the worst that can come out of it for me.
