Based rather loosely on the times dad and I would go to the scrap yards. Piss mom off by bring stuff home.
There is this one time, we went to a closed potato processing plant that was being dismantled. The dark interiors with the smell of dirt, potato, oil, and acid sticks with me to this day. I was dreading having to spend afternoons and weekends off from school helping out in that place. I lucked out because the building owners cut corners and hired a bunch of “independent contractors” that didn't pay any attention or even cared where the sparks from the cutting torches were landing.
Dad and I were going over
a bridge and saw that the building was on fire. He asked if I wanted
Burger King instead. Yes.