Pressure Under Fire

Whitney dropped her lighter outside of Minsky's pizza last night and that sumofabetch EXPLODED! A bit of the plastic shrapnel hit Whitney's arm and some of the liquid fluid hit my ankle. Whitney thought it was a gunshot and squealed/screamed (and was THISCLOSE to ducking for cover) and I thought it was a magic trick. Yes, we were both a little tipsy.

Some rando-guy came over to light her ciggie and we both thought it was a little too convenient that he was waiting in the wings with a working, non-exploded lighter in hand. I called him the "David Blaine of in front of Minsky's pizza!"

Not Liz, Whitney or I could explain exactly what happened. We came up with multiple theories and hypothesis, none that really made sense to us. But, honestly, the friggin lighter exploded as soon as it made contact with the sidewalk. KABAAM!! How messed up is that?

Needless to say, Whitney is a little gun shy about using a lighter now.