The power went out, the third time this week, as Skunk spread the whitened coals, and was about to throw a couple of steaks on the grill. He’d gotten stuck at work, again, only getting home as the sun set on the other side of the house, so the backyard was pitch black.
He moved to the kitchen, and found, in the fourth cupboard he searched, a couple of packs of birthday candles. They fit snug in a couple of cups, and once lit, gave off a peculiar smell as they burned, searing his late meal with something like nostalgia.
A Bunch of Dumb Words in a Row 