Arson

Fire ran up the side of the building, washing over the cheap linoleum siding, turning the solid face into a melted, runny shell of its former self. The gas can hit the ground next to his feet as he dropped it for the bottle of beer that had been lying on its side, waiting for his leech-kiss.

The smoke came, billowing away from him, almost as if avoiding his presence, as if the smoke were waiting to be freed and he might somehow be another captor, imprisoning it in another fake plastic shell of safety and security. In a few minutes the people inside would begin to bang on the boarded and locked doors and windows.

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