So apparently there is a sport called fire hockey which is played at night where in the puck is a roll of toilet paper wrapped in chicken wire soaked in kerosene and lit on fire. If you use good toilet paper it burns for about 10 minutes. This is the PERFECT sport for Mick.
Len squints at the scene before him in morbid curiosity.
“On fire? Yep.” Lisa is completely deadpan.
She points and he follows her finger through to - ah. Mick. That makes sense. He’s standing in the goal post at the end of the cul-de-sac.
“How long has it been going?”
She shrugs and crosses her arms, leaning against the power company box that marks the end of the lane. “About an hour? He rounded up a bunch of the boys from Ells street playing street hockey and dragged them over here where there’s less traffic. Guess he got bored of you taking forever.”
“I was making plans.”
“Don’t tell it to me.”
It’s then that Mick seems to finally notice them and waves. His eye was fixed on the fireball that was their puck before that, but it appears to have burnt out finally. His stick is a little singed but so is everything Mick owns. Though he doesn’t normally play hockey, let alone street hockey, so Len doubts it’s his stick. Probably a donation from one of the neighbor boys, all of which are closer to Lisa’s age than his and Mick’s.
“Hey Lisa!” Mick calls, waving, “toss us another?”
Len’s ready to roll his eyes. “We’ve got shit to do, Mick!” he calls back, hands cupped around his mouth.
“One more round! It’s fast!”
Mick’s grin is wide and Lisa grabs a – is that toilet paper? She lobs it in Mick’s direction and he’s quick to catch it.
“You gotta be kidding me.”
She’s smiling now. “No clue where he got the idea but I gotta say, Lenny – your friends are creative.”
He nods, bemused, and watches Mick wrap it up and douse it in what can only be one of the many flammable fluids he likes? Butane? Kerosene? Either way, the layers must keep it burning. Len can see how it works, the appeal, at least for Mick.
Now if only the jerk would stop stealing what’s clearly his home’s toilet paper and go to an actual hockey game with Len instead of complaining about the cold.
“One more round,” he says more to himself than anyone else and leans opposite his little sister.