I tripped over some kid's bike and fell on the asphalt. The street was blocked off, the crowd was breathing. Short fireworks cracked behind a nearby tree and I climbed to my feet. They were still held from view.
There were no oohs, no ahs, no collective sigh of wonder. Narration came from behind in the form of a father to his small son. I sipped bourbon from a flask and rubbed my knee, scraped and lightly bloody under my jeans. How many people did the same when I was younger? How many people are doing it now?
The finale is bigger, better than anything I've seen. Small towns do it right. The light of this one silhouettes the smoke from that. I stay afterward, finish the flask, whatever cops are there are understanding. I am quiet, alone, and of interest to no one. I make my way against the crowd, up the stairs, waiting and sweating on the train platform. You'd think with the thousands that are here, more than a few would be headed my way.
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