We stole a can of petrol from a backyard, climbing over the rotten, leaning fence, and sneaking up through the long grass to the back door. It was a quick grab, then back the way we came, and out into the field, with its rusting goal posts and playground set that'd been removed of anything resembling a seat.
No matter what TV told us about little grey men and what we should do, it never told us that they burn nicely. Petrol helps. Our little fellow screamed into the smoke, carrying it high into the heavens.
Least that's what Matty said.
