Stage One. Fire is started. Sip your beer, stare anxiously into the struggling flames.
Stage Two. It grows. Conversations get absurd, energetic, wild. Carrier pigeons and war tubas. Throw things. Lighter fluid and white gas, as much wood as you can find.
Stage Three. It dies down. Empty glass bottles, melt and crack and warp. Philosophical meanderings, linguistic theories. Poking. Calm. Stares and musings.