Isn't it strange that gasoline should smell so good but you can't drink it?
Or, you can, but it doesn't taste good and you can only drink it in small quantities before it makes you sick.
Like all people, I can still remember my first campfire. I was four years old and all the important parts are as vivid in my mind as if it happened twenty minutes ago.
The book of matches was new. The cover was red and yellow and said Holliday In, Tucson. My dad wasn't a smoker so he didn't have much practice with the book matches. He ruined three before one caught. The flash of flame was brilliant. I could feel the image hit the back of my brain like it was a magnesium baseball.
Such happy childhood memories.
Pyromania is frowned upon in warmer climates . . . eh.