I'm The Firestarter.

Life is good this week. My old roomate is out and a new one is on the way in. Everything is back the way I like it, and my pad is once again it's clean, spartan old self - sans mounds of useless curio crap that left with its owner. I've been painting, sweeping, mopping, consolodating, dusting and this place just looks amazing if I do say so myself.

That is until I just set fire to it.



I'm hiding in my room right now as the nasty burnt nylon/goosedown smoke clears. I had a candle near my new $160 jacket which apparently burst into flames simply due to the heat. I was downstairs loading what crap the old roomie didn't take into the basement when I heard the fire alarm go off. I rushed upstairs to find the entire coat ablaze. A few good puffs from yours truly and it was all over, but my newly restored sanctum has been putrified.

The funny thing is, I heard that Thursday night the old roomate's new bedroom caught on fire too. Has anyone seen Drew Barrymore walking around the North End?