Plastic, nope, plastic is a mistake for a shattering is necessary. And there is not enough gasoline in the lawnmower out in the barn for over the sultry winter it has apparently evaporated. So where is a siphon. Who owns a siphon. My father, for one, but I'm not driving over there to siphon gasoline into this bottle. So it'll be off to the gas station for a gallon in the handy red plastic. Then the bottle, a funnel. Whatever. Then the fuse. What to use. An old tshirt. But which, since after the cleaning and purging and corporate reorganization there is less clutter, or so it seems in my mind. Tshirts are all concert tshirts and things relevant. So which. An old rag. The SoCo bandanna that lingers somehow making it past all the purge action. Stuffed into the bottle. Tossed. Flames. Smile.
The End.

Maltov Love.