DC Dog Fire Cloud

I and my fellow delegates lounge in the spacious gazebo sipping dark red wine. We look out across the pristine green lawn at the moderately populated boardwalk and the clear rippling river. An enormous red, white, and blue papery pinwheel blocks a third of the sky. The piano man plays reserved classical tunes that blend with Louis Armstrong's crooning coming from a nearby phonograph. We mumble locally-known names and chuckle weakly. The sun sets slowly...

A grinning dog on fire ambles and hops onto the lawn, screaming much like a man in unbelievable pain. The canine stalls and falls, yelling mercilessly, consumed by monstrous flames that set the grass alight. Fire tears towards the river and gazebo, the dusk splashed by orange. We continue to imbibe and quietly converse.
I rise upwards, lifted by my shoulders. I bid my compatriots adieu. They are disinterested. I drift through the ceiling and roof in a ghostly fashion. 83 meters above and to the east is a miserly cloud with white arms reaching for me, pulling me along for a ride. Mr. Cloud moans and sobs with disdain and contempt. We float away, I a few meters under his curled fingers, blissfully aware of my inexorable exit from this arcane temporary stage.