A long time ago while serving in the air force in the West Indies, an acquaintance traveled to a small village in the interior of the island where he found a community celebration under way.
He was drunk and insulted one of the locals who was running a concession stand. There were words. My acquaintance lost his temper and set their celebration structures aflame, burning everything to the ground.
The island didn’t have a jail. They only had a federal prison. The fellow in question was quickly tried and sentenced to prison time, with the condition that the base commander’s words could bail him out. But while there he shared a cell with an individual doing life for murder.
The fellow told me that eventually the base commander, bird colonel came to see about him and the two of them met in a conference room. When they were finished he heard the colonial tell the prison officials to let him rot.
A month later he was released to the air force and then court marshaled, and then did some time in the air force stockade before paying restitution for the damage he’d done to the town.
That was his experience with flames.