Fire. An appreciation.


Men and women have been sitting around fires since before the dawn of history. (Nighttime: figurative and literal.) Fire comforts. The fire is warmth, yes, and it can cook the meats you hunted. But in the thin hours, when there are no more stories to be told, the fire keeps making little noises so you don't feel alone. It is an honorary member of the tribe. Huddled on a beach, wrapped in furs, the fire keeps up its side of the conversation so you don't have to. A man with friends a thousand miles away and a glass of scotch in his hand still wants a fire.

The fire cities: their orange streetlights pulse like a time lapse Tokyo, throbbing, a civilization of carbon coming of age and dying in an evening.

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Even a man who has everything appreciates a fire. When you have eliminated all other distractions, fire fills the deafening silence.