I passed fifteen cars on the way to the restaurant. I knew there were fifteen because I counted them off carefully: every time I saw one, I pulled out a little notebook and made a little tally mark. If that car was on fire, I put a check mark next to that tally mark. By the time I was a block away from the place, I had fifteen tally marks and eleven check marks.
The restaurant had no name and it may or may not have really existed. It was a small, cramped place. There was peeling drywall. There was a musty scent in the air. There were spiders.
I sat in the back and put my feet up on a table. I paged through my notebook while I waited for you.
When you showed up, you were, as always, smoking a cigarette. As always, you offered me one. As always, I declined.
“What’s on today’s agenda?” you said.
I looked up from the notebook. I narrowed my eyes.
“Cars,” I said.
“What about them?” you said.
“I saw fifteen on my way here. Eleven of ‘em were burning.”
“Burning?”
You were starting to get on my nerves.
“Yes, burning,” I said. “Like, on fire. Did you have anything to do with this?”
You took a drag on your cigarette. You blew out smoke. Then you laughed.
“It’s nothing to worry about,” you said. “Sometimes cars need to burn. There are six billion people in the world, you know. Maybe two billion have cars. That’s a lot of cars. And the number’s only going up. You gotta torch some of ‘em. You gotta thin the population out.”
“What? Listen to yourself! That’s sick!” I said. I felt self-righteous. I went on. “Those cars had lives! Those cars were living, thinking beings just like you and me!”
You laughed again. “Here,” you said. You handed me a flamethrower. “Take that outside. Burn some cars for me.”
“I won’t do it!” I said. “You can’t make me!”
“I don’t have to,” you said. You left.
I sat there for a while, I don’t know for how long, turning the flamethrower over in my hands. The waiter walked up to me and asked me what I was going to order. I told him I’d have the filet mignon. He told me it’d be $17.79. I pointed the flamethrower at him. He told me it’d be free.
My filet mignon arrived. It looked delicious. I was just about to dig in when I remembered I’d become a vegetarian just a few hours before. Frustrated and annoyed, I stood up abruptly and stalked out the door. The first car I saw was somebody’s black Mercedes. I burned the hell out of that thing. The flames were searing and white. Suddenly, I understood what you’d been talking about.
I walked around the block torching more cars. I’d almost gotten all fifteen of ‘em when they finally arrested me.
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