Yard Fire, Gas and Meat

The yard was already hot before I sat down. Two grills, a fire pit, and a row of propane tanks along the fence, all of it hissing. The heat hit my face and dried my mouth.

Fat snapped on the grate. Somebody put a cold bottle in my hand, then rapped a tank with his knuckles. It answered, dull and full.

"This one's still working. Don't swap it till the meat's done."

I drank. The meat kept cooking.