I looked out the window of my apartment on 8th and D, and as it happened the abandoned building across the street was on fire. We decided to mosey up to my roof to watch the action unfold. It was a clear night in the East Village, although I wouldn't call it nice. It was never really a nice night in the neighborhood back then; the squalor only seems romantic in retrospect. This was before the empty lot on 8th between C and D was developed. At the time it looked like Viet Nam. Anyway, me and my idiot friends were on the roof watching as the structure blazed. I soon noticed a little squirrel running back and forth along the roof of the burning building. My friend Matt began calling to the squirrel, "Come across the wire. It's only gonna get hotter over there, don't be a jackass!" For some reason the squirrel ignored him, and continued to skip along the edge. "It would be kinda funny if he jumped" I said absent-mindedly. (I was racking my brain to see if I could get laid that night with very little effort. By the way, the answer was no.) I guess I was getting bored watching the 5-story building being consumed by flames, not to mention the annoying rodent. Just then, the squirrel jumped. We lost track of it as it passed through the smoke. No one spoke for a while, and then Matt finally said, " That's odd. He didn't seem that depressed."