CRIT: Proposed opening of WIP

I submit this in trepidation, both for fear of the dread 'lose the
muse' phobia and for comments (if any) that may result: This is my
present opening for the WIP that is consuming my time (and holding me
hostage at chapter five):

======

There was something oddly familiar about watching ten tons of fire
engine barreling down upon me, the ear-pounding BLAT of the air horn
shattering my day-dreams as I scrambled pell-mell back onto the
sidewalk.

Open exhaust assaulted my ears as the firetruck brushed past, all
gleaming chrome and red, its exhaust roaring, a monster bull bellowing
along the street. The young volunteer fireman clinging to the rear of
the truck, pulling on the sleeve of his worn protective suit, had been
a senior at Wellvern High last year. He grinned and gave me a
friendly wolf-whistle, drowned out by another BLAT of the horn. I
waved back and they were gone. I was left with my heart pounding
against my ribs and a profound sense of deja vu.

Come to think of it, the first time had been at this corner of
Washington and Pine, on my way to deliver a package to the old folk's
home. You'd think I'd learn to read the signs by now. On that day,
the truck had been going to a house fire and I really wanted to turn
around to follow, but I was desperate to deliver the package in my
arms.

This time, the fire engine was headed downtown, where a thin
column of white smoke threaded into the air above nearby autumn hills
- only a trash fire, and of no interest to me. I settled back into my
comfortable mission, going to see an old woman who meant the world to
me.

My name is Jeri Sue Simpson. Sixteen (almost). Bean pole. Long,
stringy brown hair. Gray eyes. By the way, that's Jeri Sue. Two
words, not one. My mom calls me Jerisue, but she also calls me
Geraldine. I let her get away with it because I love her.

Otherwise, only idiots and enemies call me Jerisue.
__
JamesE
.

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