The Can

The thought hit me like a couple of protons moving at light speed through the higher function brain cells. You know how that can tickle. Where was it? It wasn’t in good shape the last time I saw it. It could be dangerous if it went off and got some on ya. I need to find a helmet and some welding gloves. And the flame thrower just in case.

Spring is just around the corner. While thinking about cleaning out the garage I remembered The Can. It had been many things over the years. Relic of the past, conversation piece, science experiment, interesting although somewhat alarming coffee table decoration.

It all started about twenty years ago with the end my last ‘domestic partnership’ as they are now called. It was an amicable split, she headed south to experience life as a California bisexual, I went stock car racing and the dog I think, headed east. All that remained was the last unopened can of the sort of food only a starving dog would consider eating and even then would stand upwind. It was a local brand, I think called ‘Ol Dobbin’. The factory smelled like a rendering plant.

The Can must have rolled around under the sink for a couple of years before it was discovered there during a brief fit of cleanliness. Remember this is bachelor housing. It was immediately noticed that the metal of the can was distressed, rounded out as if great internal pressure was threatening the very structural integrity of this common, well proven container of consumer products. In the interest of science it was then displayed on the coffee table. Visitors when shown The Can quite often ducked and quickly moved away. The chair nearest The Can was seldom used. Although I was relatively unconcerned, my guests were often alarmed at the prospect of spontaneous dogfood detonation so, again in the interest of science,  it was put out on the deck in the sun to see what happened. Well, the years went by and The Can expanded enough that the label fell off. Then it sort of got mixed up with a collection of industrial supplies and is either somewhere in the back yard or the garage. It would be interesting to find it again.

If it is still intact I could really have something here. Twenty years is a long time for anaerobic bacteria. That’s like 12 million people years. All that heat and pressure, thousands upon thousands of generations. Mutations, perhaps a whole new life form. Like something that could be thriving on that planet they found recently a couple of galaxies over. Maybe I could sell it to DoD. I’ll bet those boys in the moon suits would love to open it up and see what sort of marvelous bugs are in there. Oh, do I feel a screenplay coming on? Well, I’m getting a little ahead of myself here. That will need to wait till next winter when I have the time to figure out how to write it. It can’t be that hard judging from the films they do these days. If it weren’t for Capt. Jack Sparrow there would be nothing to watch.

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