A Molotov cocktail flies through the air, rotating end over end as it moves forward, graceful in its slow motion revolutions. It stops mid-air, suspended. A drum beat plays lightly in the background. Boom boom pop, ba boom boom pop, boom boom pop, ba boom boom pop. Like that. The bottle, the gasoline inside, the air surrounding it, almost everything is motionless. Only the flame still burns, still continues to devour the rag. The bottle is clear glass, and the sky behind it is cloudless. -- The fire peters out. -- The Molotov cocktail surges forward, ripping through the air until it slams into the target with a thud and lands on the ground. Music stops. The target is a cardboard outline of a generic car. It resembles a car in overall shape, but has no characteristic features. There are no wheels, windows, doors, mirrors, fenders, nothing. Where the driver s window should be is a hand drawn target. The bottle lies on the ground near the tail end; the rag has come loose and gasoline is spilling out.
