`How about the Southern Lake? We make fire, sleep over and go swimming tommorow.', asked Joel.
`Sounds great!', Derek exclamed. He was know for fondness on water.
`Anywhere is fine, as long as YOU pay for the gas', I replied, for I was the only one in possesion of a car. And the gas price went up last week, as if it wasn't hiked already.
A quarter later, our merry gang manned my old Lincoln, supported by a pack of beer, and other camping goodies. We promptly hit the road, and three more quarters later we were sitting around a blazing fire. Passing cans around and laughing off the whole long week at work. What could possibly go wrong?

`Hey, look what my old folk gave me!', Joel pulled out a bottle. You recon his grandpa is a moonshiner.
`Let me show you something!'. He took a quick gulp from the bottle.

Several things happen at once. Joel breathed at the fire. The fire, already fierce, grew almost four yards high, and reached Derek. Derek screamed and jumped, his clothes set alit.

He started runnig around, and, fortunatelly, he ran into the lake. Joel an I were standing motionless, wathing him mock about in water for a while more, then standing up and walking back to us.

`My new jacket! Joel, you're the worst scumbag I ever met!', were his only words for the rest of the trip.

After that, we packed up in silence and drove home.

And guess what. I had to pay for the gas.