There are certain sense memories I carry with me from my childhood days of visiting my father's firehouse in the Bronx: the bumpy metallic texture of the back step of the firetruck.... the glow of lime-yellow stripes against the black of a turnout coat... the flashlight, gloves, and helmet visor layered with sooty reminders of fires past
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Zoe @ Playing by the book
http://www.playingbythebook.net/
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