If I was there, I would have felt the burning sensation on my shoulders.

Periodically, I search for short clips of gasoline explosions. I like to watch (with volume muted) the results of the leak; the thick red smoke as it propels forcefully upward and outward, and the flames which lay beneath the surface, waiting to puncture it and seep quickly out. The sky is slowly eaten up.

I don't think that this habit stems from some sort of carnal lust for destruction. I think it's more about the finality of things.