There she is again, in all her shiny red and chrome glory, taking up a very big chunk of our garage.

My dad’s fire truck. I don’t suppose too many people can say that, but yes, my dad has his own fire engine. And she’s a handful.

Drives like a tank, I’m told, with something called double-clutching involved. Sucks up money about as fast as she once pumped water. And makes my dad about as happy as can be.

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