(From 'Memories 3')
When we kids would visit Number 1 Fire Station on Grey Street downtown, or Number 2 Station on Flood Street, they always had a unique smell—a combination of fresh coffee, cigarettes, firefighting smoke, perspiration and adrenaline. It was heady stuff for a little boy. I dreamed of being old enough to slide down the pole, step into my firefighting gear and jump onto a fire engine as it raced off to a five-alarm blaze, lights flashing and siren blaring! But before I could do that, I knew I’d have to drink an ocean of Cain’s coffee, which was mother’s milk for firemen.
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