I don’t know about you, but those fire safety lectures we had in elementary school scared the hell out of me when I was a kid. I was convinced that my house would burn to the ground and had a detailed plan for which of my belongings I would grab while fleeing from my collapsing inferno of a home. I had almost completely forgotten about this latent fear until yesterday when my Serenity movie night was interrupted by a strange orange glow seeping through the blinds. At first we thought it was just headlights, but headlights don’t flicker. Also usually don’t shine in to second floor windows.
So there are these dumpsters about a hundred paces from my front door, and next to them is a strange fenced off little enclosure where people dump old mattresses or furniture. There are plenty of overhanging trees too.
Luckily Rachel is quickest on the cellphone draw and called 911. We found out someone already had. People from the Business and Professional Women’s Club next door were already gathering to take pictures with their cellphones stupidly close. Some other apartment dwellers, slightly more freaked out because, you know, we live here, started gathering and trying to move their cars. Joe immediately accused the guy holding a cigarette of starting the whole thing and returning to the scene of the crime.
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