Emergency vehicles are a fact of life in the City. They are ubiquitous. Loud. I always know if conference call attendees are based in New York. Because when they speak, the din of sirens lingers in the background, a distant harbinger of the apocalypse.
When walking the street and the bray is particularly teeth-jarring, I occasionally peep the cabin to see whether the driver has the expression of urgency that would befit the noise and the traffic disruption. Most times, the driver has a visage of utter calm, as if on a Sunday drive. I become deeply suspicious whether their cargo is in a hurry at all, as the ambulance ambles along, slowly, playing its tunes.
The most confusing and confounding are those that blare at pre-dawn, without another car in sight. Warning would-be sleepers in their bedrooms, erstwhile dreamers, that they need to yield.