FOR NOAH.

January 20, 2007

I wrote this one for my brother, Noah. He told me once that my blog felt a little heavy—which was fair. A lot of these stories come soaked in blood, grief, or silence. But not this one. This one’s different. It came from a night where, for once, the absurdity of the job outweighed the tragedy. We all wait for that legendary story—the call that earns you nods from the old-timers and wide eyes from rookies. This was mine. It wasn’t a baby in a burning building or some noble, televised rescue. It was a strip club on a summer Friday night, where the glitter was real and the professionalism... tested. I wrote this one because sometimes, amid the chaos and heartbreak, you just have to laugh. Because if you don’t, this job will eat you alive.