She sat the cardboard box on the grass, beside the bar-b-que grill. A faint orange glow shuddered in the wind, shrouded in thick layers of white ash. Jean picked up a large set of tongs and pushed the blades between the black bars of the grate. Globs of brown fat fell into the coals as she lifted the round mesh, sizzling with yellow bursts of quick flame. Jean dropped it on the ground and sighed. “I guess it’s right,” she said.
Lord Malinov, Flowers of Malinov