The fabulous Bennion Compound holds many secret treasures.

Moments ago, while walking through the section that encompasses my father’s junkyard, The Girlfriend suddenly halted, took a couple of steps backward, and then asked, “Is that a flamethrower over there?”

I took a look at the object in question and confirmed that, yes, it is indeed a flamethrower. Well, of a sort. It doesn’t actually project a stream of burning gasoline — which would be way-cool, by the way — but it is a long wand-like gadget designed to produce flame at the tip. Dad cobbled it together a number of years ago when he needed to thaw something out in the dead of winter. I forget what.

Anne shook her head and said, “You know, when your parents die, we’ll have to figure out what to do with all this shit.”

I replied, “Yes, and then the flamethrower will be ours.”