Setting: Suburban landscape– Homes just this side of McMansions. Not terribly ostentatious but definitely the type of thing brought on by 80s economic nostalgia. Night time ish, the homes are a little crowded but overall not jammed in too tight. I could be comfortable here if the neighbors weren’t such fucking snobbish pricks.
For whatever reason, I’m 26 of mind and 16 of body. And kicking it in the semi-finished basement of one of these homes. There’s a little too much inside for its outside but not very Danielewski-ish, believe it or not. I’m surrounded by some peers, mostly male but some female and there’s some incessant chatter of adults on the floors above. Half the basement is finished, carpetted and furnished with the futon and club chairs that the home owners reflect fondly upon but don’t invite folks over to see. I’m in one of the club chairs. There’s some talk of fire as someone tries to sneak in a quick puff off of a bowl. When they flick the lighter, I laugh (from across the room) and the flame suddenly gets huge. (Dude’s face is damn nearly burned off.)
From there I spend some time learning how to control the fire. Eventually I get it down and start doing tricks with it. But I wind up disappointed because I can’t just make the fire from thin air. Eventually I get excited because I can at least make fire from lighter fluid in my mouth. But it tastes nasty and it only works outside.