I sit outside around the campfire listening to the chirping of the crickets and the whispers of the people. The sun is setting with the ooohs and ahhs are exploding out of peoples’ mouths. The crackling of the wood and the images you see inside the fire is majestic. The smoke rises and blows into my face as I gasp for air. Then the hunt for the perfect stick has begun I believe I will win. I find a perfect long, thick, amazing stick that no one can defeat. The parents bring out the delicious layers of the gooey, chocolate, delectable treats we call smores. As we cook the marshmallows our impatience’s increases as we see the picture of a complete desert. We walk over to the table where the chocolate and gram cracker lay and smush it together like a car in a salvage yard. Chocolate devours our mouths and we continue to do it over and over again with happiness. Although you are happy you still feel sick to your stomach.