I am ashamed to admit I woke up in prison today. The emergency alarm had been pulled and me and my homies were running around amidst smoke trying to figure out what happened. My heart started racing when my Mexican vato Martinez started panicking. He was a buff, 6ft tall fella with “no fear” tattooed in gang script across his back. This wasn’t looking good…
I then woke up and realized I was not in prison but in my Vancouver apartment and there was no Mexican homie, instead there was a tiny, white dog panicking at the end of my bed. I had been dreaming, and the fire alarm was going off in my building.
All the elevators were off and it was pitch black. I fumbled to the staircase with my dog sheepishly waving around a two inch flash light I had won from a toy machine at Metrotown. I stood at the top of the 25 flights of stairs and released Max as if he was a police dog that would lead me to safety. Max made it down one flight of stairs, and started to pee everywhere, then refused to move. (If anyone from my apartment is reading this, it wasn’t my dog…)
I later found out there was actually no fire in my building, but a transistor in the parking lot had blown setting off the alarm. (I have no clue what this means but a man was trying to explain it to me, and I nodded positively as if I understood.)
Today I am grateful there was no fire in my building and everyone was safe. It was also a great workout carrying my dog up and down 25 sets of stairs at 6am.