Eventually, in a blind rage, I’d rip the whole nozzle and cap assembly free, destroying its plastic components in the process, and then feverishly dump gas wherever I damn well pleased. Free of all constraints, it would gurgle with intoxicating fervor and tremendous inaccuracy, ensuring that everything within a two-foot radius was baptized in petrol and the can was empty; me, chest heaving, eyes wide with lunacy. That is the kind of safety we have now. Luckily, I’ve always sorta liked the smell of gas.
