As I stood in the shitty parking lot by the dumpsters, leaning against a car with my fellow exhausted, food-splattered restaurant coworkers to have one last smoke before closing the bar, a bang the volume of a thunderclap startled us. Then there was another, and another, and another. Suddenly the sky was filled with brilliant lights. Fireworks were going off in the park next to the police station; whether it was an official celebration or some punks with 4th of July leftovers didn't matter. I looked around and workers from all the bars on the block, the 5 star restaurant and the sketchy dive alike, had come out to watch the spectacle.
Everyone was silent, wide-eyed, in sacred awe. There is something about fireworks that turns everyone back into an eight-year-old, that captivates us with fire, color, and power, that, for a few minutes, makes all the problems in your head and in the world seem surmountable... Because what can't be overcome if fucking fireworks exist??