Gas Huffer

I was kneeling over a gopher hole, trying to get the "giant destroyer gopher bomb" lit. Sure, I felt bad for slaughtering the cute little rodents but the hundred holes they burrowed in our front yard was the talk of the neighborhood and I had to act. It was my latest obsession. The thought had burrowed it's way into my head. Smoking it out was the other option.

The wick was wet. I had to relight it until it caught. Smoke billowed in my face. I stuffed the 'giant destroyer' in the hole, wick side in. Smoke continued to smother my head as I packed dirt back into the hole.

I went inside and I started thinking, not about the poor moles in their underground dens, but about the smoke that I inhaled.

"Hey, do I smell?" I asked a friend who was staying at our house.

"Do you smell?" He was confused.

"Yeah, like smoke, or gas? Do you smell anything weird?" I was concerned.

He slowly leaned to me and sniffed my shirt.

"No."

I am used to asking people to smell me. It's a weird thing to get used to.