Desultor

Normally I hand dry that black skillet, but I figured what the heck!

As I was walking to get a sandwich for lunch, I saw a cracked-open lighter lying on the sidewalk – the long kind, like you use for a barbecue or fireplace. I wondered why someone would have done that, and a block later was still enveloped in my own fantasies of somehow saving the day (maybe it’s cold or something?), despite people’s fretful cautions, by using a jackknife (but which one?!) to incise my party’s last lighter at both ends, get the butane out with minimal spillage, and get the life-saving fire started…

My reverie was interrupted by the sight of a small, low cloud of smoke on a sidestreet. It was coming from an apartment building’s knee-high keep-off-the-grass hedgerow; it looked like the mulch was smoldering somewhat vigorously. A guy, of grad student age and mien, was alternating between desultorily poking at the smokier spots with his foot and looking at his cell phone.

Desi (approaching): Is everything all right?
Guy: Uh, this seems to be kind of on fire.
Desi: Yeah, looka that, that one bush is actually burning! Well, with the mulch (starting to edge the smoldering mulch onto the sidewalk with a shoe corner) the smolder travels underneath, you see, (stepping into hedge to kick more lustily and effectively) you gotta get the whole layer away. (Really ripping into it now – almost no mulch remains – kicking the burning bush to knock the burning parts off)
Old Lady Walking By: That’s beautiful.
Desi: Huh?
Old Lady: (nods head toward flowerbed further back in yard)
Desi: Oh, aren’t they lovely? I don’t work here though – we just noticed this mulch was smoldering, so we were getting it onto the concrete.
Old Lady (walking off): Well, you’ve done a good deed, young man!

The Guy left after a bit too, and I cleaned up the last little bits. After watching the remains of the mulchbed for a minute or two for any other signs of smoke, I decided to go a half-block further, order my sandwich, and check again for smoke when I’d placed the order. Just at that moment, I heard sirens in the distance. Fearing cops, I started to walk away at a normal pace, trying not to look back or fixate too much on the horizon.

The sirens passed me – they belonged to a firetruck – and I could hear them turn the corner and stop where I had been standing. At this point, I began to regret fleeing the scene, on the theory that I might be able to tell them something useful. So I went back.

Desi: That mulch was just burning.
Surly Boston Fireman: That’s what we’re here for.
Desi: I sort of kicked it onto the sidewalk.
S.B.F.: (nods coldly)
Desi: (nods and walks away)

Fifteen minutes later, sandwich in hand, I walked back by. The firemen were still there, drinking coffee and keeping an eye on the mulch.

More mixing bowls!