After school or on weekends, I would drive my Mercedes C-Class to a rundown part of town, where the black people used to live. That part of town had a surplus of abandoned buildings.
Since no one was around, it was easy to build small bonfires, watch and admire the flames.
But it was insufficient, the small bonfires. I wanted more, bigger brighter more colorful and extraordinary blazes. So, on Halloween, wearing an Obama mask, I filled a few gas cans and heaved and splashed them over an abandoned little 2-floor, single-family home, and set it alight.
Running off, watching from afar, it gave me a high like no other, seeing such a structure disintegrate and burn.
Cancel Culture | Kim Cancer I revisited that area, torched a few other houses and a closed-down toy factory, the factory’s joists and its smokestack collapsing under the weight of the lustrous flames, the ground shaking like an earthquake as it toppled, and I clapped and growled as the collapse sent a rush of blood to my head.
But I had to stop my activities around there, when it turned out a few squatters were inside one of the buildings I had burned. They had been homeless drug addicts and had burned to death. In all, there had been three of them.
At first, I did not think much of it, reading about it online. I was only slightly disappointed and annoyed that I would need to find a new area to play fires.
However, when I saw their pictures, the drug addicts who perished, I was elated.
They were so ugly. Missing teeth. Covered in tattoos. One had a huge stupid red afro like Sideshow Bob. I could imagine the drug addicts in flames, coughing in conflagration. It was superb, envisioning the amber tongue of the fire licking over their diseased bodies, charring and cleaning them of their wasted lives… I felt so warm and fuzzy that I jumped up from my chair and danced the Dougie.
I knew what my next game would be…