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ID: 9NW99aIi/qst/6265428#6275966
7/17/2025, 9:11:26 AM
>>6275614
Your brakes squeak gently as you park up in the gravel lot that runs along The Narrows Firehouse. Stepping out of your car you give the place more than a second glance. Run-Down would be a polite way of putting it. The bricks are chipped and marked with the remnants of graffiti from years passed, faded smears show the attempts to scrub it away. Loose stone slabs form a walkway to the front door that sits between two stained and dinged garage doors. A delightful chirp draws you from your inspection.
“Mark.” Allison calls from the cracked door of the lobby. “Come on in.”
“Hey.” You reply, pressing a light kiss to her cheek as you step passed. “Still things left for me to do?”
“Absolutely. Any good with a knife?”
“I mainly live off food trucks and delivery these days but I know my way around a kitchen.”
“Good, we need someone to prep onions and peppers. Up to it? I’ll be next to you peeling potatoes.”
“With company like that, who could say no?” You reply with a smile.
Allison links her arm around yours and leads you through the station towards the growing chatter in the garage. She points out a few academy photos where she’s covered in mud and bruises, a picture of Wayne Tower from the 80’s engulfed in flame, and a few models of old fire trucks. You can’t help but notice the sparkle in her eye as she discusses all of it, it reminds you of yourself. This is more than a job, it’s a deep passion, and this revelation only makes your grin wider as she brings you through the doorway into the garage.
A small group of men and two other women work at various stations. Some chopping ingredients, setting up propane grills, or cleaning pots.
“Cap! I got fresh blood for you.” She calls out to an older bald man who kneels by a propane tank, tapping on the meter impatiently.
“Hold your horses.” He replies calmly before reaching out and giving it a firm knock on the rim until its needle swings. “Alrighty. Now what were you hollerin about?”
She angles herself to push you forward slightly. She nudges you gently and you take the hint.
“Mark DeLucia.” You say politely, extending a hand. “Happy to be able to lend a hand.”
Your brakes squeak gently as you park up in the gravel lot that runs along The Narrows Firehouse. Stepping out of your car you give the place more than a second glance. Run-Down would be a polite way of putting it. The bricks are chipped and marked with the remnants of graffiti from years passed, faded smears show the attempts to scrub it away. Loose stone slabs form a walkway to the front door that sits between two stained and dinged garage doors. A delightful chirp draws you from your inspection.
“Mark.” Allison calls from the cracked door of the lobby. “Come on in.”
“Hey.” You reply, pressing a light kiss to her cheek as you step passed. “Still things left for me to do?”
“Absolutely. Any good with a knife?”
“I mainly live off food trucks and delivery these days but I know my way around a kitchen.”
“Good, we need someone to prep onions and peppers. Up to it? I’ll be next to you peeling potatoes.”
“With company like that, who could say no?” You reply with a smile.
Allison links her arm around yours and leads you through the station towards the growing chatter in the garage. She points out a few academy photos where she’s covered in mud and bruises, a picture of Wayne Tower from the 80’s engulfed in flame, and a few models of old fire trucks. You can’t help but notice the sparkle in her eye as she discusses all of it, it reminds you of yourself. This is more than a job, it’s a deep passion, and this revelation only makes your grin wider as she brings you through the doorway into the garage.
A small group of men and two other women work at various stations. Some chopping ingredients, setting up propane grills, or cleaning pots.
“Cap! I got fresh blood for you.” She calls out to an older bald man who kneels by a propane tank, tapping on the meter impatiently.
“Hold your horses.” He replies calmly before reaching out and giving it a firm knock on the rim until its needle swings. “Alrighty. Now what were you hollerin about?”
She angles herself to push you forward slightly. She nudges you gently and you take the hint.
“Mark DeLucia.” You say politely, extending a hand. “Happy to be able to lend a hand.”
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