the day the whorehouse burned part IV

The smoke was thick and black and smelled like a burning couch. Behind the smoke orange flames roared at me. I roared back

"Anybody home?" I called. Ok, I know, but it was all I could think of. Madame X had conducted an impromptu roll-call and assured me that nobody was in fact home.

Good thing, too. I do not ever want to find out how brave I am.

So the next thing that sprang into my head was that somebody should probably call the Fire Department. I took this task on myself and ran home to my upstairs apartment where Xanthippe and I (and baby makes three) lived as poor as churchmice.

Churchmice don't have telephones, by the way.

Aha! My downstairs neighbors had a phone! I'd kick down their door like some Made-for-TV hero and make the call.

Their door was unlocked.

I couldn't hear the emergency operator very well because of the sirens coming down the street. The operator was very nice and waited until all the firetrucks had arrived to inform me that they were already aware of the situation.

At this point, I wandered outside. The firemen had everything under control. They were wrapping blankets around the nude and semi-nude. They were putting out the fire. Two of them were getting my big useless ladder the hell out of the way.

Madame X came up to me, "Thank you so much!" she said and gave my cheeks a motherly pinch.

"Well, I didn't actually DO anything," I said.

"Oh, Honey," she said. "It's the thought that counts!"

So there I stood, wondering if I had learned anything. I had run a foot race with Destiny, and I came in second. I had done my best, but had been thwarted at every turn. I had done much, but accomplished nothing.

What was I to do now?

I did the only thing I could do.

I wrote a Country Western Song about it.