four dogs ran by, they were chasing a yellow cat and it made me feel like i was back in mexico. i started to think about how much i would enjoy a hot tamale but that's an adventure for a warmer day. I walked across the back alley and eye'd the small bbq on the balcony 4 floors up. there was a man singing somewhere inside the apartment and by the boom in his voice i could tell he was wearing no clothing, this could come as an advantage if he had any fear of humour.
so, where i had previously left off, climbing the ladder, is where we find me now and if you have a feeling for iron rungs you will know that what i describe next is of the lesser pleasant feelings involving iron rungs.*
*publisher's note- the following description is fictional and does not portray the views of duppydoctor/duppynews inc. any names or feelings included are based on the writers misfired neurons and any connection to real persons is purely coincidental, so relax you neurotic narcissist, you know who you are.
the irons rungs, were cold.
after climbing the ladder onto the actual fire escape itself, the rest of my mission was clearly a breeze. i would climb the stairs and quietly lift the hibachi lid and take half of the hot dogs. i assumed there would be four, because a man cooking hot dogs on a bbq would not waste the fuel to cook only two, one would be ridiculous and three absurd. therefore four would be the most likely, if he had a guest there would be two each and if not he would save one or two for his macaroni later, if he had more than one guest there may be more than four, in that case i would consider only taking a third or a quarter of the hot dogs, dependent. when i arrived at the intended balcony, i opened the bbq to see that there were six hot dogs, as i stated, i had anticipated the higher count but had assumed four and felt a mild fluster because of it, that is often what happens with an assumption, they tend to be completely ungrounded.
there was a fork there and i used it to get two of the dogs from the grill, i replaced the lid and began to back down the stairs, scott free! that's what i thought too, but i didn't have any buns and i really wanted some mustard, and if there was ketchup...well, i paused.
the dogs on my fork were nearly perfect, a couple bubbles on one side and mostly browned, i figured the singing man would be out to check on them immediately unless he liked his weiners blackened. it was a safe bet to say he didn't, because that is disgusting, and he stuck his head out of the window at that very moment .
years ago, when i was just a small child, i ran into my neighbour's house, stark naked, with my bb gun, i yelled "the king is dead" and shot their visiting grandfather in the earlobe. he was a steelworker from a small northern town and hadn't seen it coming. as i ran out the back door i heard him holler "long live the king !"
the singing man knew immediately what was happening, he had no fear of a humorous episode and emerged from his apartment, naked. i shimmied down the fire escape but he jumped down to the balcony below me, forcing me to move upward again, i climbed back onto his balcony and went through the window, inside i noticed there were buns and condiments on the counter, the singing man came through the curtains quickly behind me, i ran toward the living room, the hot dogs jiggled on my fork. his apartment was very clean and a wall separated his kitchen and livingroom with an entrance to either on both sides. he came around the wall on the other side and i reversed back into the kitchen, i picked up a kitchen chair and threw it at him with one hand, it exploded on the cupboards behind him and lit on fire. i couldn't reach the buns and decided to go back through the window, before i could exit a knife stuck into the wall beside me, i ducked in anticipation of another and one of the hot dogs broke off the fork.
at this point i knew i had to do anything i could to save the remaining dog. i flipped the kitchen table which was beside the window and threw another chair, it caught the singing man on the shoulder and he dove back into the living room. he had knives, i knew that and didn't want to break for the window again, he would expect it. i grabbed a glass off the floor and tucked the fork closer to my side and did an army crawl into the living room, i thought about entering the tough mudder next year. i could easily reach the door if i had cover, the naked singing man and i were on either side of his couch which spanned the wall. i rolled onto my back and threw the glass at the open window in the kitchen, i did a one handed half back handspring onto my feet as the glass shattered and the window exploded in flames, i made for the door.
running down the stairs i could hear fire trucks up the street, i found an exit to the side of the building which lead under a wisteria covered trellis to an adjacent street. i could hear the singing man yelling, in a low baritone, "the king is dead" and i moved faster, for i had to find a bun before my hotdog got too cold to eat.