It’s three thirty in the morning when a sound intrudes on my dreams, a

surging, a rumble, a sound long forgotten. Then my conscience kicks in,

brain on full alert. Firewater pumps!

When I stumble out of my room the hallway carpets are already soaked and

water is pouring out from underneath the door to the fire escape. I

gingerly push it open. Water sprays everywhere the sprinkler system is

obviously doing it’s job but there is no fire.

Fire has a buzz to it, a sub audible hum, a life all of it’s own, that

most of us instantly perceive.

Now other people have woken up and I take the elevator down to the

lobby. Not the wisest thing to do under the circumstance but I don’t

want to get wet.

Interior drainage was obviously not foremost on the architects mind when

he designed the building. The water here is ankle deep and rising, the

apartment dwellers at this level are frantic. The one person missing

from all this is Reg, the building manager, attempts to wake him by

banging on his door and ringing him on his telephone prove fruitless.

I assess the situation decide there is no apparent danger and go back to

bed.

What a night.