Not because they're slow mind you, but because we were too busy fucking to bother eating breakfast or lunch before our $800+ three-hour class on vampiric folklore which we're crashing for free.
The clouds race across a Ford's windshield parked out front much too fast, and people begin to race by as well, looking up at the sky over the building we're haplessly sitting in.
Outside there's a dark torrent of smoke curling up over the row of eateries and shops. Lucky's asian owner runs into the Domino's to tell the counter wage grunt that the building might be on fire.
Rounding the corner we find an amphitheater curve of 20+ gawking, just watching what may as well be the fire channel as far as they're concerned. Atop a huge heap of plastic and cardboard, flames seven feet high begin to lick the side of the rear wall, already engulfing a back stairway and blocking the rear entrance to the Domino's. Aside from Lucky's owner running off with an empty little bucket, it seems the audience has let the fire merrily continue for quite awhile, and if left, that fire's going to win.
Christina, of course, is the first person to note a certain something only 15 feet away.
"Isn't that a hose?"
"Sure is, babe."
"Shouldn't we use it to put out the fire?"
Gods, she's so smart.
"Yes, let's. I'll get the faucet."
Grabbing the hose, Christina strides right up to the blaze in her white Steve Madden hightop wrestling boots, belted black cotton hot pants, and proud pigtails, an exceptionally buxom vision, her powers of reasoning fearlessly focused, and just lets the fire have it full blast.
Over my shoulder an accent matter of factly says, "Fire is a good servant, but a bad master." African student straight out of the veldt, except for his UA football jersey and baggy sag jeans, grins, explaining that it's an ancient proverb. The fire reflects in his dark eyes, and I know it's not the only holocaust he's ever beheld.
Somewhere in the middle of the girl versus flame face-off I get behind Christina to yell over the hissing steam and angry sizzle, "You are so superhero!" The crowd now looks as awed as I feel.
By the time five fire vehicles do arrive, Christina's doused the whole conflagration into wet & smokey submission. She hands the hose to a firefighter, and we thanklessly slink away to the front to pay for our takeout, which still wasn't quite done.
Walking back to the car I can't help re-examining Christina, unable to stop smiling at her.
"What?!?" she says. "Stop staring at me."
"I can't believe it."
"Believe what?"
"That it's somehow even possible to look at you with more admiration than before."
She smiles back, blushing, and we kiss, tasting the smoke on our lips, the shared heroics making our evening all the sweeter, a heat greater than any fire.
We pass by the heart of the sprawling university, looking at the unsuspecting masses who never realized what danger had just been averted a mere half a block away. "You know, all of this would be a heap of blackened rubble if it weren't for you! All these fools owe you their lives!"
"Well, not everybody can be action figure Christina!"
# # #
While a mostly happy bookstore fixture for over two decades, Guillermo Maytorena IV is currently willing to entertain your serious proposals for employment as a literary/cinema critic, goth journalist, castellan, airship pilot/crewperson, investigative mythologist, or assisting in a craft brewery. Should you be connected to any of the above or equally interesting endeavours, do contact him via LinkedIn or G+.
