LA County Firefighter-Paramedic John Gage has just finished up his shift. Furthermore, he has just finished his very long shift. Every disaster imaginable aside from mudslides and earthquakes and floods had occurred.
Thus, after changing into his civilian clothes, he runs from the locker room—almost sliding out into a wall as he does so—says goodbye to his partner Roy and then promptly exits the building, jumping into his jeep.
For once, he has nothing planned for his days off. No errands, no dates, no anything. Although he does, however, have every intention of spending some quality time with an elusive little thing called Sleep. He might even watch some TV for once!
In higher than average spirits after a long shift, he puts the keys in the ignition and soon departs from the lot.
Not long after leaving the station, he decides to turn on the radio and listen to some music. He hears Orleans, Firefall, the Eagles, quite a few of the hits that he loves and then…
As soon as the first few notes play, he groans.
"Now, not this garbage again! Music these days…"
He could turn the radio off, but then he might miss a good song after this one was over… so he left the radio on.
It begins… with his pointer fingers.
Of their own accord, they just start tapping on the steering wheel.
Then his head starts bobbing to the bright and bubbly tempo.
Next he actually starts smiling.
And then…
"This morning I woke up with this feeling I didn't know how to deal with and so I just decided to myself, I'd hide it to myself and never talk about it, and didn't I go and shout it when you walked into the room. I think I love you!"
"I think I love you. So what am I so afraid of? I'm afraid that I'm not sure of a love there is no cure for.
"I think I love you. Isn't that what life is made of? Though it worries me to say that I've never felt this way."
Even as he stops at a red light, he continues to belt the song out.
"I don't know what I'm up against. I don't know what it's all about. I got so much to think about. Hey, I think I lov—"
It is then, as he looks to his left, that the word dies in his throat.
Stopped beside him is a biker—leather jacket, American flag bandana, biker boots, the works—on a Harley.
And he's staring at him. His stare of haughty disapproval clearly speaks the question 'What is wrong with you, man?'
Grin falling away and shoulders slumping, Johnny slinks down into his seat as his face enters into competition with the color of the fire engine back at the station. Gaze locked straight ahead at the light, he reaches out and turns off the radio, hoping the light will change to green soon…
Fin.