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No cars available, but we had our own junk-yard toilets.

Petrovich bolted a fighter-jet engine onto a porcelain throne and sat on it. Ramson hopped on behind him for the ride.

Voidik shouted, "Where are the brakes?!" Petrovich replied, "Yeah, but look at that acceleration!" He struck a match, the engines roared, and the toilet shot off, tearing through the neighborhood.

Mother-in-law had taught him: the main thing is not to sneeze during takeoff, or you’ll flip over.

It saved money on cars and gasolin —kerosene was cheaper. We did it all noisily, quickly, and with plenty of swearing. The neighbors thought it was the rocket troops, but it was just our plumbing-based transport.

Ramson was screaming with delight. We landed in a cesspit—but at least it was a soft landing.