dennis stonem

The bonfire was probably set up by a group of teenagers, Dennis stumbled upon it on his evening stroll. There were beer cans scattered all around which he hoped people would not connect to him. Still, he sat by the dying fire and stared at it in hopes of a breakthrough. He kept trying to fabricate ephiphanies, the whole point of moving was to eat-pray-love his way through the divorce. It wasn’t working. He heard steps behind him but didn’t bother tearing his eyes away from the fire. “The mess isn’t mine,” he called out before anyone could accuse him of anything “I don’t litter. I don’t even use plastic straws anymore.”