Howie the Little Girl and her Pet Old Man Head are drinking milk. It's their favorite drink.
"Have some more, Head," says Howie as she pours him another glass. "Yes, milk is very good for us."
Just then, an Arsonist opens the door from the backyard and walks into the kitchen. She is holding a large red can of gasoline.
"Hello," says the Arsonist, smiling with her bright, handsome teeth.
"What's that?" asks Howie, pointing to the red can in the woman's hands. "Is that gasoline?"
"Sure is," she says. She hefts it up and shakes it so Howie can hear the liquid inside, filled almost to the top. She removes the plug from the spout and the strong smell of gasoline invades Howie's senses. "Gasoline is for lighting fires," says the Arsonist.
Just then, a Fireman walks into the house. "Hey little girl. Hi Arsonist," he tips his red fireman hat to them both. "I thought I'd stop by to make sure nothing is on fire."
"Really?" asks the Arsonist. "I'm just the oppsoite."
"Wow," the fireman takes off his hat and ruffles his dark, scraggly hair. "Funny how the world works, huh?" Howie pours some milk into Head's mouth. Most of it spills right back out, but she cleans it up with Head's Dribble Rag.
With a clever smile, the Arsonist pours a small puddle of gasoline onto the linoleum floor. It bursts into flame. The Fireman watches it appreciatively for a moment before taking out his Fireman's Axe and chopping the fire out.
"You're good," says the Arsonist.
"I'm really good," replies the Fireman. They stare into each other's eyes for a long time.
Howie picks up her best friend and carries him into the living room. It looks like the Arsonist and the Fireman might start kissing, and she doesn't want any part of that. She wants part of a Fort made out of couch cushions.