Butta'

There's a makeshift shrine commemorating the shooting victim from yesterday, on my sister's neighbor's stoop. Viveka is worried that the candles might accidentally cause a fire. And rightfully so. This is not an unreasonable source of worry, nor is it insensitive thinking. I'm talking from experience.

A few years back, when I rented a studio in Prospect Heights, people in the neighborhood lit candles outside the local firehouse. I believe this was around Sept. 11th in 2002, so it was a particularly emotional and sad anniversary. Sean and I were on our way to Buttafly, a bar on Washington Avenue, when we saw commotion and lots of smoke and flames at the firehouse. The candles from the shrine had put the firehouse on fire.

A bunch of neighborhood teenagers were trying to put the fire out.
"Fuck! What do we do??" one of them yelled as she moved towards the flames.
Another kid ran over to the entrance door and tried to open it, unsuccessfully.
"OPEN UP, OPEN UP!! THERE'S A FIRE!!!!" he yelled while banging his fists against the door. No response. "Shit they're not here!"
"Quick! We gotta call 911!" the girl yelled.
"What the fuck are we gonna say?!?!?! Yo, your firehouse is on fire?!?!?"

Then, the firetruck pulled up around the corner and the firefighters rushed out with their water hoses and put the fire out.

They nodded a silent 'thank you' to the kids and walked inside.

Sean and I defrosted from our deers-in-headlights-pose and continued our walk towards Buttafly.