My father always kept a gallon of gasoline in the garage. I'm not sure what the logic of this was. I guess, if you ran out of gas just as you got home, you'd be glad it was there.

But it occurred to me that gasoline was always something people were telling me not to, you know, drink. And that meant it was probably dangerous. And that meant I should pour it on the stump of the evil century plant.

Just to, you know, make sure.

So I did. And I watched the tiny heat waves come off of the stump, glistening in the sun. And then The Voice spoke again.

"You know what would really make sure it's dead?"

I already knew.

"Light it."

And I was off in search of matches.