You admire the furnishings: 'What a lovely place you
have, Chris.'
'I'm house sitting.' Chris concedes. 'My uncle is gay.'
You play dumb: 'Are you sure? What would happen if you brought some girls around?'
'Subtle.' With unsubtle glare. 'Which one put you up to
this?'
'I'm owed an explanation.' You confess. 'That fish caught
on fire.'
An idea sparks Chris' eyes: 'Fine, let's get some girls
around.'
Chris leads you down driveway to a property behind Chris'
uncle's. Subdivision has been recent - there are no gardens or fences
separating front and backyard. In corner opposite your entrance, on the other
side of the new house, is a pile of treated wood 'pulled from the old bathroom
reno'.
You burp in whisper: 'And it's still there?'
'You'll see.'
Your phone's light scans a dozen-or-so planks
not-quite-rotting. You Jenga planks from
the heap and sneak them over the fence to James. Pete takes them through the
house and Frank re-arranges them in the middle of the street.
After shifting a dozen planks, you thirst for beer. James
trades you one for another plank. After shifting another dozen planks, your
beer is done. You realise something is amiss after you shift another dozen
planks but Chris says:
'That'll do.'
You return to the suburban street, where Frank has
arranged the planks into a waist-height palisade wall crossing (blocking) the
road. Frank applies long kitchen-lighter to the wall and fire instantly
stretches the wall's length. Flames spike above your head and, in unison, sway
to the right clap clap then sway to
the left clap clap.
You warm your right hand and your left keeps your drink
cool away from the fire. A car turns the corner and approaches the blockade
warily. It is full of women within appropriate age parameters. The designated
driver questions with mouth half agape but the passengers, passing a bottle of
vodka amongst themselves, look at this opportunity with bright eyes.
You garnish with:
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