Meet Seth Hollow

(don't worry, he's a good boy)

THURSDAY 8:00pm

It was the prettiest yellow flame. One plucked straight off Solomon’s menorah. The type of flame that warmed you up more than it should, after all, it was half the size of a newborn’s pinkie nail. Nevertheless it burned and the cold burned away with it. Not that it was that cold in the kitchen. But it was nice to think so.
The tiny flame, waltzing round and round with the sparks in my eyes, not tiring one bit, didn’t sprout from a candle or a lighter, nor a match, but from a stove. A camping stove, portable and compact, ready for guerilla warfare in the wet jungles of Peru or an evening slooze under a bum’s bridge, or even a christening ceremony on the kitchen floor in the company of an oven and a microwave. But alas, this was only a practice run; a way of getting intimate with my new toy. Nothing was being cooked. And, when I was confident that I had mastered its use, I shut the fuel valve off and watched the flame take its last gasp before disappearing into the kitchen air.

ps. doing nothing is fun