I was enthralled by fireworks as a kid. I never did anything really dangerous, but boy did I fantasize about doing so. You know those rockets? Well, they don’t have to be aimed at a 90-degree angle. When you’re ten years old, when you’re so powerless, there’s a massively liberating feeling when you walk around with explosives in your back pocket. When I’d go to the fireworks shows, a part of me was rooting for the sparks to hit the ground, set something on fire. The ten-year-old never gets around to fantasizing about the people who’d have half their face burned off. I knew the possibility was very remote, since the adults, with their adult magic, made it safe.
I was reminded of that, tonight, when I went on a walk and was startled as a firework exploded right above my head. The sparks fell. I wondered if they’d hit the ground, set anything on fire. A lot of adults have the same mentality as I did at age ten. Wanna see boom. Don’t think about the consequences.
I’m just thankful I have a basement apartment, which insulates me from all the noise. I feel sorry for the rest of them… scratch that, of the bulk of them I don’t feel sorry at all. You get what you vote for.