Just a bunch of guys from the neighborhood, drinkin’ beers and soaking up the remaining daylight.
Finally, their host appears flaunting a large platter of uncooked meat. The group cheers.
Within moments, the sizzling grill is packed edge to edge.
“Smell good?” he asks the hungry crowd.
Everyone nods, except one – the neighbor who’s been a firefighter for three decades and knows the acrid scent of scorched human flesh when he smells it.
The firefighter locks eyes with his unassuming host, watches as he slowly, covertly puts an index finger to his lips.
It’s going to be their little secret.
The Weekday One Hundred 