In lanes parallel to the street in the front yard and perpendicular in the back yard, I mowed. Just as I was one lane away from finishing the back yard, the mower sputtered and died. I unscrewed the gas lid and looked inside. There was only soaked sediment in the black and nearly dry bottom of the tank. I walked into the garage and shook each of the red containers on top of the toolbox. I took the one with the most, walked out to the exhausted machine, and gave it a drink. I pulled the cord and a cloud of black smoke billowed from the exhaust. The engine roared with the new life that only a meal and some rest can give. I pressed the blade initiator and pieces of acorn and shreds of leaf shot out in all directions. Then I pressed the clutch and we were off to complete our conquest, beheading every living member of the grass nation.