Burning Man Day!

Man On The Street just got set fire. He was walking along, on the street, minding his own business, when a reporter for a publication with a very small readership asked him if he had time to give his thoughts on the presidential race.

"Gladly," said Man On The Street.

The reporter asked who he plans to vote for.

Man On The Street said, "I think they should both be strung up by their ears in the town square and flogged with a studded—" but he was interrupted when three teenage boys flanked the hem of his overcoat with the flames of their zippo lighters and ran off.

One of the flames was immediately extinguished of its own course. The flame in the middle caught, but held to a small circle at the low bottom of the coat, just behind the man's knees.

But the flame by his right leg soared up to the pocket and seemed to pay no heed to Man On The Street's flailing umbrella whacks. The cub reporter did what he could, slapping at the flame with the notebook, but most of the blows landed on Man On The Street's own hand. Ultimately, Man On The Street jerked himself from the coat and let it puddle on the sidewalk so that he could stomp out the flames with his Docksiders.

Man On The Street and the cub reporter looked around for the hooligans who started the fire, but they were nowhere to be found. They stared down at the lump of smoky overcoat on the sidewalk for a moment. Then Man On The Street said to the cub reporter, "Now, where was I?"

Happy Burning Man Day!