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TWENTY SIX. ( and so they keep on twiddlin' them thumbs. )
"There she is!"
Emmy rolled her eyes as she shut the car door, crossing her arms over her chest. "What do you want, Johnny?"
She then paused when she saw the grill and Miguel sitting close to it in his wheelchair. "Miguel? What the hell is going on?"
"He's trying to get me to walk," Miguel bluntly explained.
"To walk? How? You gonna throw him on there?" she walked closer, standing by the opposite end of Johnny.
"If I have to," the blonde man shrugged. He then began to had lighter fluid to the coals, instantly lighting the grill. "You know why they call this a hibachi?"
"They don't. It's a kettle grill," Miguel corrected.
"Hundred years ago in ancient China," Johnny ignored him. "There was a tiny little village of dairy farmers, living fat off their milk and cheese. Then when the drought came, they needed to get water from the river. None of the Chinamen wanted to do their work."
Emmy reeled back. "Dude, you just sound racist."
"China people, whatever," he waved her off. "The point is, they were laying around in hammocks waiting for rain. So a wise man gathered up a bunch of twigs and stuffed it under the villagers while they slept. Know what he did then?"
"Lit a fire under them?"
"Exactly. That's where the expression comes from. Know what that wise man's name was?"
"Hibachi?"
"Damn straight."
"Yeah. Except that hibachis are from Japan, not China, where there weren't a lot of dairy farmers, historically, or hammocks."
