When Francis Rose and Kalene were both fifteen (Rose was barely fifteen and Kalene was almost sixteen) they spent the night in the abandoned lot behind Don's Burger Battalion. Daryl was passed out under a pink indian blanket in the back of Eugene's pick up truck. Eugene was pissing into a rocky stream. Rose and Kalene were both stoned and staring into the small bonfire they'd built. The embers were pulsating and complicated. They seemed like a city to Kalene. She said so to Rose. Rose prodded a log back so they could see the city better. Kalene felt heat on her face and smelled cold air and burning leaves. They sky was polished and black and silvery from stars. Francis Rose started giggling. She said in a squeaky voice, "Oh no Mr. City, don't burn." They both laughed in a convulsive, half-lidded stoned way. Kalene pretended her hand was a puppet and said to the fire in the same high-pitched voice, " Hi, I'm Mr. Froggyfuzzyskunk, the child molesting panda. I want to host Saturday morning T.V. but I can't find a job." Ashes and burned fall leaves drifted into the sky. Eugene staggered toward the fire and the laughing. He smoked the rest of the joint and curled up into a fetal position. He gently tapped his palm against the dead grass, in time to the gust of Johny Coltraine in his head. Francis Rose and Kalene were lying in each other's arms, tears raining down their faces from laughing, the stars rushing into their ears.