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That evening, all our friends gathered at Stephen and Walter’s waterside house. This promised to be one of the last mild evenings until Spring, and so we took full advantage of their large deck, the bonfire on the grass by the water, and a widely disparate assortment of hot dog roasting sticks. Daniel claimed that his stick only produced burnt hot dogs, and mine seemed determined to keep mine lukewarm . . . so he ate the one I cooked, and I ate his, which was perfectly charred and tasted amazing in a potato bun with ketchup and relish.
Everyone had come with something to add – potato chips, coleslaw, some sort of chili that Lu swore was the only thing that made hot dogs palatable. Lucas even whipped up a batch of pumpkin cupcakes with cream cheese frosting for the gathering. It was pe
