The fire had crossed Second Avenue, and was heading up to Third. Smoke could be seen in Tacoma, and the roar of the fire heard for miles. Help had been called in from Tacoma, Portland, and even Victoria, B.C. …
Realizing their geoduck was cooked,
Moran raced into the offices of the Sunset
Telephone-Telegraph Co. and unhooked
the contraption himself. “Get
me Tacoma!” And Portland and Victoria,
B.C., and then, remembering a noria
he’d seen on the faraway Kickapoo
River, put out a call for someone he knew,
had heard legend of, anyway—a Wisconsin
firefighter by name of Paddy or Mick
O’Somethingerother, who with a single lick
and a little spit could put out the fire in
Hades itself. “The name? People are dyin’
here! Wait; I got it … Get me O’Brien!”
META!
I really like this one, all around.
Victoria/noria!!!
Kickapoo/knew!!!
Very nice work, Mr Finnegan.
The amazing thing is you weren’t even drunk when you wrote it. Well, by late 19th Century standards anyhoo. Fantastic!
He wasn’t drunk, but he was chain-smoking.
That was fun, thanks.
My grandfather Jack Tyrell was a fire chief in Jersey City, so there is some historical precedent.
On the other hand, I tend to start more fires than I put out… but thanks all the same for the nod.
JOB