ZippoJohn said; 'I had this dream. I'll tell you: I'm in a bar with some friends and we're talking, drinking, it's Friday night and the bar is quite full, there's loud music. The beer makes me feel good, but doesn't make me crash, the vibe is there and all the girls seem nice. I've got enough money in my pocket to keep this going all night, so, you know, it's all good." He rolled down the window and took a deep breath before continuing." It's my round and I go to the bar and there's a huge crowd but I get served right away. As I pass out the drinks and turn to get my beer, this girl brushes past me, I mean, she brushes past me. And he smiles. Real eye contact. I think to myself, “This is going to be a really good night,” and if I woke up I would wake up laughing. You know how it is with dreams, good dreams, part of you knows it's all fake but if you're really lucky you don't wake up. Everything works fine.'Then this guy walks into the bar, I don't see him before, but my dream sees him or maybe I only remember him later. He's just a skinny boy, but all tense, looking really angry, and he's carrying a bucket full of petrol in his hand. He slips as he makes his way through the crowd.'I look up and see him standing in front of me just as he throws this bucket of gasoline in my face. The next thing I know I'm in a crowd as everyone backs away except the guy smiling at me, and I'm drenched in petrol. My eyes sting as it runs down my face. It's curdling in my beer.' John looked at me and smiled, a wry smile. 'Here I am, standing alone in a pool of flammable liquid, the stuff is seeping through my clothes; it feels wet and scratchy. I know what's coming and I think to myself, "Why me? What did I do to deserve this?" As if it wasn't part of any of my plans to be burned alive in a pub on a Friday night.< 2 >'The boy reaches into his pocket and takes out a Zippo, hands it to me and smiles.