Sometimes you can find hot, scantily dressed firefighters in me. You can gawk at them all year long. Don’t get all fired up about it though, it’s all for a good cause.

u can’t outdo my rate of travel. A shadow of substance, in packets I unravel. No breath to my pulse, I leave no trail. Floating yet, no ship I sail. I pierce the glass but shatter at a wall. When you see it’s me you see though I have no shape at all.

I crown the champion, the poet, the king, Yet I am a simple, green, woven thing. A collection of verses, a chain with no key, Hung over the doorway or wrapped round a tree. What am I?

Bowler or 10 gallon, fedora or such... if you can't find one you like there is no rush

There's a group of four, they are all guarding your coins. It keeps the fabric together that covers both the groins. John Cena holds you down and to seal the final score, he locks a sharp position and fixes you to the floor. Pierce social notes of interest to capture what you love. In a room with silent guests, you hear it falling from above.