Cease Fire
When I was young, my street sounded like a war zone on Independence Day. The kids down the block would set off a 4,000-shot bandolier of Thunder Bombs just after breakfast, followed by a barrage of Blockbusters, M80s and whatever else packed sizeable boom.
By evening, the entire street was abuzz with everything from whistling bottle rockets to pro-style mortars that set off showers of colorful sparks deep in the night sky. It’s early, but right now, all I hear are chirping birds and a few passing cars. That’s fine by me. I may even get out of bed eventually.
