I never had a feeling any better than I had when driving my big pumper through the streets of Oxford at three or four in the morning, while everybody was sleeping, while the streets were deserted except for an occasional police cruiser, with the lights flashing just yellow caution at the intersections, wheeling that big red truck like all little boys would like to and some will grow up to, like me, and knowing that they were all asleep while we were up, taking care of the city of my birth, watching over them, there and ready to protect them and help them if they needed us.
I know that sounds sappy as hell.
I don’t give a shit if it does.