I was in San Francisco last night at a club in a sort of ghetto part of town. I came upstairs (and outside) to cool off, and perhaps to have a smoke (I know, it's so terrible, shut up) and Stefan runs up to me and says, "Katie, you just missed it, it was so great..." and told me a story about the excitement that I had just missed. Things were beginning to get tame once again, and then the excitement took place once more.
A very drunk (and probably homeless) man, carrying a bottle of some clear liquid that he was drinking, wearing a dirty black cap, a black hood pulled up over his ears, and carrying a stack of newspapers walks into the middle of the intersection and sits down. He then proceeds to set the stack of newspapers on fire. Cars are swerving around him and his small campfire, buses are honking, and still, there he sits. After a moment or so, he gets up and leaves the blazing papers in the road. He travels a few inches from where he set the fire, and collapses purposely, and lays, quite relaxed in the middle of the intersection. The cops come, armed with a huge van that they park in the middle of the intersection. They pick him up and drag him to the other side of the street, (leaving their van parked in the middle of the road, hazards flashing) where he proceeds to moan and flail his arms. The fire is still burning strong. They let it burn until the man calms down, car's horns are going off angrily and impatiently, and tires are screeching trying to avoid it, and then one of the cops puts it out. Eventually the drunk man is packed away into the back of the van, and the excitement ends, but not before a few cranky goths whip out their digital cameras and get pictures.
The moral of this story is: when you're drunk, ideas that seem very clever are probably not that clever, although they will indeed make you more popular with bored club kids.
PS-- Rae: I got a piece of the burned newspaper. I'm going to mail it to you.