10 degrees

This morning, it was cold on top of cold, so that the salt on the roads seemed as if it too were frozen, a chalky white film on the pavement. The view from the bus stop was up and down dreary, from the sad piles of dirty, frozen snow to the people waiting for the 70 who were clearly not wearing enough layers, missing a scarf or two or five. We could hear the roar of a diesel approaching, and we leaned out from the semi-protection of the bus stop to see not the MBTA gas guzzler we were expecting but the Cambridge Ladder 3, bursting from the winter grime, gleaming red and chrome. The firefighters in its cab looked warm and apologetic as their pristine, seemingly otherworldly vehicle stopped at the stop sign and was gone.

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