So I was working on my laptop in my favorite neighborhood punk-rock coffee/ice cream shop, Herrell's Cafe, when I began eavesdropping on a tragic conversation happening at the table next to me. This guy was detailing some trauma to the chick sitting across from him, and I overheard him say something about an accident wherein he got burned. Intrigued, I began to listen more closely.
Burn-victim guy mentioned something about accidentally inhaling fuel and deciding that day to "quit." Wow, I thought, this guy must have been some sort of heroic firefighter before he got injured. The girl listening to his tale of woe was nodding sympathetically and holding his hand across the table. It was all very emotional and made me feel guilty about my chosen profession, which will never put me in harm's way or involve any life-saving.
Then I hear the guy say, "Yeah, well, fire-eating is definitely the most dangerous thing I've ever done."
Ok, never mind. Dude, you make the choice to stick a flaming baton down your throat, you deal with the consequences.
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