We are not grillers. Having a shiny, nice, non-rusty grill without hot spots is not important to me, which means that it should not be important to Lloyd, either.
We have a rusty propane tank attached to a rusty fire box that has rusty wires to hold food above flames. Simple as can be, eh? Lighting it is wonderfully dangerous, too, since the ignition thingie broke years ago. It’s a beautiful, complicated dangerous tango between match and flammable vapor.
I am the Head Griller, because I know the steps to the dance: Turn the tank on, crouch down, light the match, stick lit match under the burner, shield eyebrows, turn the burner on.
Lloyd turned the grill on all by himself for the first time since the thingie broke.
I will not show you the picture of his thumb, or the place where the hairs used to be.
Summer of grilling, straight ahead.