Stoves and PyromaniacsI met a pyromaniac on September 11th. She was standing under the towers with her ash covered suit on fire, looking up and smiling. Everyone else was red and running and in a panic, but the air around her was quiet. I should have saved her immediately and thrown her into an ambulance, but for a few minutes I just stood there looking the flames dance. She was supposed to cry when I told her that her third degree burns were my fault, but she laughed and asked for my phone number instead. Later, at the hospital, she told me she wished she would catch on fire everyday. She said that when she was little, fire promised that it would never hurt her.Stoves and Pyromaniacs
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Busy
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Words go here. Unfortunately, I am out of words.
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