Citrus Oil

Stalked past the wooden wheel of an outdoor fruit cart. On the grimy curb lay a discarded peel of thick orange rind... curved, oily, and sun-baked. I did not rush. Planted one heavy boot flat against the white pith, rolling the glossy skin upward. Drew my pinched roll down close to the outer zest. Gave the rubbery edge a sudden, deliberate heel squeeze. A microscopic spray of citrus mist spat right into the glowing ember. Small, sharp crackle... tiny violet sparks snapped into the noon air, trailing a sharp burst of scorched citrus and sweet tar. Held my stance. Commuters can rush their lunch. Good fire right at my feet.