I'm sitting here at whatever ridiculously late/early time it is. It's quiet outside. There is no one walking, no one leaving footprints on the remaining layer of snow. A fire truck rushes down the street. Emergency vehicles are nothing out of the ordinary, so i disregard its mournful wail. But this one stops. It stops about a block down. I see a lick of flame, so i go outside to get a better view. Standing outside in the freezing barely morning, i watch a team of firemen exit thier truck and spray down the remains of what appears to be a car. The fire wasn't particularly spectactular, or dangerous, or anything more than routine it seems, but something strikes me about all this. It is such a lonely scene. There is no one outside, I'm the only one that notices that this happened, save for an odd passing car. The troup of fireman, do their job, then climb back in their truck and disappear to await some other impending disaster. The drone of their engine the only sound breaking up this silent winter night.