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He was definitely going to brando: songs my mother taught me be mad. It seemed like every time he gave me a job, I broke something. I prepared for the yelling. He asked me if I'd finished the holes. I told him I'd completed five, but, um, in the last one, I'd accidentally severed the air line hose in the yard, and that I'd tried to find a match to fix it, just like he'd taught me, but I couldn't come up with one. He looked at me with puzzlement. "An brando: songs my mother taught me air line? What the hell brando: songs my mother taught me is an air line?" I took him to the hole, and he looked in. His face went pale. "Will … this is a gas line." I couldn't have known. Then, like now, I had no sense of smell, and had no way of determining that the rush of invisible gaseous material was not air, but gas. "If you would have found a match, you would have blown up yourself and half the goddamned neighborhood."
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