As we cruise we can see the fireworks over the trees and when I get out of the car I'm ducking between houses to catch a glimpse, but all I see is the brightness peeking over the trees and around homes. Then I start to run and my legs hurt, and as I move further down the street the density of pedestrians grows and people start looking at me funny, as if they want to say 'Why is this boy running? Stand still and watch.'

And as I go down the hill people are just sitting in large groups looking at the lights [explosions in the sky, haaaaaa] and I imagine I am in a high budget, apocalyptic movie where everyone just sits and watches the end together, accepting their fate as it's dealt.

I arrive at the beach as the last firework goes off, and then the people start moving back towards me, back towards the hills, like it's time for refuge. I stand still for a little and let them pass around me. I think I'm hoping for someone to recognize me, for what reason I don't know, as the crowd is made up of moms and dads and their young children. Then I join the exodus (because that's the only word fit to describe it, that's the word we'll all use to make it seem more dramatic than it is) and I move across the streets filled with idling cars because the traffic doesn't matter, people are crossing the streets at leisure. Fuck crosswalks.

I look for a child playing in the road, unaware of an oncoming car, to save. There isn't one, so I open the garage and enter as people start their own firework displays and I understand that for this entire weekend, or for any occasion where people feel the need to light off fireworks, hundreds of writers will be comparing their crowded streets and explosions to the end of the world, and describing the feeling of each blast going off in their rib cages like there's something novel about it.

They are so pretty.