The Twelve-Rib Shop
Everyday Grandma Rosie wakes up at 5:30 in the morning. That is except for Sunday when she attends church with her two grandchildren, Alice and Johnny. Their mom gave birth to them when she was young so she left them with Grandma Rosie and ran off to Las Vegas. She never did like New York City. Grandma Rosie barely had enough money to support herself, let alone two grandchildren. After fifty years of working at the Twelve-Rib Shop, she was not going to quit now. At first it was hard getting by, but after a few years it was getting easier. They even had enough money to go out to eat every Sunday after church. Everything was going good. The kids were in school and were actually well off. That's until it happened.
"Dispatch Truck 44," said the dispatcher over the fuzzy walkie-talkie.
"Roger that dispatch, this is Truck 44."
"We have a five-fifty-five at 479 Church Street. It's that rib place with those great ribs," said the dispatcher.
"Roger that. We're heading that way," said the firefighter as the sirens roar in the background.
As the sun rose that fateful Monday morning it met up with a cloud of black smoke. The streets were like a graveyard, no people were in sight. As the echoes of the siren bounced off the brick walls of the empty alleys, people started to wake up and see the fire. Just as the firefighters arrived at the diner, Grandma Rosie's alarm clock goes off and its time for her once again to begin her day. As she gets ready to go to work, Grand Rosie starts to hear a siren of some sort. As Grandma Rosie walks out the door she sees a big cloud of black smoke.