I asked the guy standing next to me in the street about the fire. In a bouncy Jamaican accent he asks “don’t you want to be a firelady?” A smile peeks out at me between a mustache and a beard. 

“I haven’t got the courage.”

“They’ve got bad-looking girls like you flying F-16s… don’t you want to know what space looks like?”

I allow my interpretation to crack into a smile, and I stick with my original answer, “I’m just not that brave.” 

“Have a good night…”