It started raining. The people in the court yard scurried into their cars. My three friends and I huddled on the side of a building next to rusty pipes where the wind was blocked by a large gas tank. My friends were chatting about their weekends. I was busy contemplating about how much I hated rain when the air started to smell like propane. Joe was about to light a cigarette.

“Joe, stop!” I shouted.

Security came and evacuated the area. We were a cigarette light away from blowing up the building.

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