“Sure.”

Kevin opens the barbecue cover, a thick roll of smoke curling out from underneath.  He brushes his hand to fan away the smoke, his eyes starting to water.  He thought the odor was sweet before, almost like a caramel smell, and now he detects a thick fragrance of mesquite.

“Wow, these do smell great.”

He flips one of the steaks, and is about to flip the other when he notices an odd-shaped piece of meat along the side.  It’s small, charred almost black, but pointing away from him the odd shapes he swears look like . . . fingers.