I’m living in a pretty rough area, and there are always a lot of loud, rowdy noises through the night, on any given day of the week. Tonight, being a Friday, I suppose my neighbours are feeling especially celebratory because it sounds like they’re letting off a series of fireworks. This actually happens pretty often – once on like, a Tuesday, which was kinda weird.
Now, I love fireworks more than any other thing in existence. They are my all time favourite thing of all things ever. Once, when I was about 19, I was living with my best friend, Katt, and we heard fireworks one night. I was so excited, and I ran outside to see them straight away, but we lived in a duplex and only had a small, covered courtyard out the back, so I ran down the driveway to watch them from the street. It seemed that I had been too late – I didn’t even hear any more fireworks noises – so, with a heavy heart, full of disappointment, I went back inside and that was that. The next day, however, Katt informed me that the fireworks had, in fact, been gun shots from a drive-by shooting incident. I was suddenly not so disappointed that I hadn’t seen the “fireworks”.
Ever since that incident I have never again run outside to try and see the fireworks when I hear them going off in the neighbourhood.