![]() Back in May of 2000 it stood alone in the desolation of blackened tree stumps, melted plastic swing-sets, overcooked remains of cars and SUVs. Lesley was looking at the still soot-coated, singed house. Being uphill, this hovel you bought shoulda turned to charcoal dust, like the other places in this neighbourhood did, but just look at it.’ Los Alamos got lucky with Las Conchas, but Cerro Grande had sparks like dive-bombing fireflies. ‘You know,’ Toby wiped his fingers on his oversized pants, ‘the Cerro Grande and Las Conchas fires turned the sky an eerie, orange-red. ‘Guess their little mating ritual got cut short when they smashed into my windshield.’ ![]() Hot and grimy from clearing the driveway, Lesley felt about as sticky as the phosphorescent bug guts on the front window but nowhere near as luminescent. They light up and glow when they’re ready for love.’ Romantic-thinking Toby ran his finger over the tacky glass. ‘Ah, fireflies, the tiny fairies of the insect world. ![]() ![]() ‘Fireflies,’ she answered, grateful an expanse of plaid boxer shorts covered his butt crack. Lesley Samuels glanced at her cousin and winced. ‘What’s this boogery gunk all over the front window?’ he asked, hitching up droopy, oversized jeans. Toby leaned forward and squinted at the old Bronco through his rectangular glasses. ![]()
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