Search for the hero inside

“I love the smell of naproxen in the morning,” said the grizzled veteran, surveying the flames and inadvertently disclosing his day job as a pharmaceutical adviser. “Smells of . . . economy—and bendroflumethiazide,” he continued, starting to ramble pointlessly, “That’s cheap and all, just the kind of drug a commie pinko would take. ACEs, they’re more the American way.”

Another fireman came dashing up.

“There are people trapped on the first floor,” he shouted at me enthusiastically. “But you can’t go …