Hot charcoal, stoking flames. The grill is hot and ready to commence delicious cooking. Hamburgers, hot dogs, chicken, and sausages. Vegetables and peaches will also see their day. The grill marks show themselves, branding these items. Adorned with condiments; ketchup and mustard and relish and pickles. There is something magically special about a backyard cookout. Some prodigal son, fatted calf festival. Little tiny angels sing with each bite and echoes in the stomach where it ultimately goes to reside. In the process of touching something hot our nerves send a rapid fire signal to our brain; It's all to protect our self, it's a protective measure, like an alarm system inside our body, different from immune response. And that rapid fire signal will register in our brain as, "OW, HOT" as we feel it and so we will quickly remove our hand from the hot plate in question, calling for ice packs and cursing ourselves for our stupidity. Waterpark flat top grill, Bob's Burgers Marathon on a Sunday afternoon. Eating popcorn in bed wondering what it would be like to live life as a cartoon. The hiss of flames tickling the meat on the charcoal or gas grill. The Sims. The gas grills were always more expensive. I assume that's how they are in real life too. Home Depot makes me nervous and smells like wood. All day there will be this heady aroma of things cooking. I always say that's the best way to interrogate someone; Just have them nearby an Italian Nonna making homemade sauce, or a grillmaster using a smoker or grill, fixing up delicious Texas BBQ. If they're starved, they'll talk. Even when I'm not starved, I'll talk. Tongs and apron and serving tray. What's the rush? Swimming pool outside, sipping lemonade in August. Flip flops and sunglasses and sunscreen. Music is chill and lo-fi and being piped in to an outdoor speaker system. Our own personal Disney World. Magazines never hold my attention. One piece bathing suit. It is black with white trim. The water is a smooth, glassy surface.