remote cards

The rain drizzles down. The shrill beeps of the fire alarm spill through the glass doors into the street. 100-something employees mill about infront of the kebab stand, faces mirroring muted annoyance.
The fire engine whines past, drops off five firemen infront of the door and rushes on. The firemen saunter inside casually in their chunky blue overalls, with the yellow writing on the back. You can see them gesticulating behind the closed doors. It is dry, inside.
The rain drizzles down from a dirty grey sky. 100-something wet employees chew their kebabs, casting dark glares at the firemen inside. Mutterings arise. The atmosphere turns, hotheaded words escape, fists clench around lamb and spices.
The fire engine rushes through again, breaks hard to gather in the firemen, saves them from the kebab fuelled mob.