The Fire of Friday in June

A couple weeks back we were on a friend's roof deck over by the United Nations, and just as the sun was setting on the skyline we smelled smoke. Not barbecue smoke but gasoline-and-insulation smoke. You could see it drift over from the east side, but there was no accompanying cacophony of police and fire sirens. The local news said nothing, and we couldn't even find anything on Twitter. People started going downstairs, and dirty bomb jokes felt more inappropriate as the smoke grew denser. Finally we had a hit on Twitter. TGI Fridays was on fire in Midtown. And after they told me, I could almost smell the fry-grease and formica in the smoke. We went to street level, and you couldn't see or smell the smoke. Nothing had happened from here. And now I'm wondering, if you can afford to live up that high, maybe the city's always on fire. With so many people fires can't be uncommon. Maybe it's only the rich people in their high-rises that know the city is burning down around us. And that's fine with me. I'll deal with the fire when it's closing in on my favorite happy hour haunt. One less thing to worry about.

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