where there's smoke...

If I said that the fire woke me up, I would be lying. I was already awake, tossing and turning and willing myself to fall asleep.

As it was, I heard the sirens through my open window (the bad kind of sirens--the ones that start out faint, get louder as they get nearer, and then suddenly stop), heard people yelling outside, and stepped out into billows of smoke rolling across our courtyard.

Most of my neighbors (weird fact: a majority are gay men) were already outside, staring at the commotion across the street. One lone cameraman (how did they find out so quickly??) darted between buildings, trying to get the best shot.

I've never seen anything like it. If I was lying awake waiting for a sign, this was it. But just like in Angels in America, I didn't ask for a sign, and I don't know what it's supposed to mean.

It could have been my apartment. That would have meant something. Something like "Dear Mary, why didn't you buy renter's insurance when I told you to? Start listening to me. -God."

In other news... handbags!