Death is only beginning to frighten me again. I had stopped being afraid of it after the revelation of that pale, pure morning when I understood that I was no different from other men.
“In the warehouse of a local weed control agency in rural America, someone discovers several drums of a 15-year-old chemical once used to sterilize soil. The drums are taken to a remote area and left there. A rifle shot rings out. A drum explodes. Had the drums been jarred while at the warehouse, several people would have been killed, for the drums of obsolete chemicals had slowly, imperceptibly, turned into time bombs.”
U.S. Environmental Protection Agency | “Hazardous Wastes” (1975)