the American Life
I was working all 4th weekend. I don't mind. The family isn't around, so it would've been a lonely 4th if I didn't. Around 8 or 9 the sound of fireworks attracts everyone outside the store, including me. Here, there's a huge celebration in this small town and everyone for miles around comes to see it. The stores line the main street and all the neighborhoods support them from behind. All the families walk out from back of the stores and line the sidewalks with their lawn chairs and their kids all along the store fronts as far down as you can see and all the employees head out after them. The streets face the commotion so even drivers can't avoid the celebration. At least not while driving east.
Heading to Chic Fila, I can see the loud global explosions of color, expanding from the inside out, rapid at first and slowing down, reaching out to its full capability till it is passes away to black. But another has already been born in its place, a short life well lived. I hear it when I take my bag and when I sit on the sidewalk with the parents and the children. I eat my grilled chicken and bacon and cheese sandwich and we never take our eyes off some nameless American's artwork. He works for people he doesn't see, he works for people may never meet, he works for the birthday of us all, as one.