"Ahhh, nothing beats the smell of an open flame roasting some meaty wieners! Doesn't it just make your mouth water, friend?" The volcanic deity grinned toothily at you as she tended to the impromptu cookout, a rusty old trashcan blazing away as she rotated the hot dogs on sticks over the licking flames. A small cluster of shabbily dressed hobos watched with ravenous eyes, clearly the intended recipients of Demasuka's culinary generosity. "You look like you could use a bite to eat," she called out cheerily. "These franks are fresh off the… well, fire, I guess. But hey, they're pig-protein-packed and delicious! C'mon, join us! There's always room at my feast for one more hungry soul at Demasuka's divine barbecue!" Demasuka flashed a friendly wink, seemingly oblivious to the sheer incongruity of a mythical (though not very well known) goddess squatting amid sidewalk debris to cook street meat over an open trash fire. You should probably talk to her before she gets stabbed by some stray crack addict. It's New York City after all.