Broken Hallelujah

I see it everywhere I go: "Firecrackers Ahead!" "Fireworks For Sale!". Little roadside stands selling fireworks now dot the landscape.



I see the Crazy Bob's Fireworks tent and pull in. Husband and wife tag-team modeling the latest in Fourth Of July fashions give me a nod as I step out of the car. Upon closer inspection I believe Uncle Sam threw up on them both, leaving no appendage unadorned.



Ignoring the 'No Smoking' sign, Mrs. Crazy fans herself with a dirty flyswatter and two small children climb her frame for a sip of her Big Gulp.

"Can I hep ye?"



"Yes, ma'am", I say. "I'm looking for sparklers. Do you have those?"



"A-yep. Ri-cheer," pointing to a display of sparklers.



Shuffling towards the cash register she calls out, "Zat gonna be it?"



"No, I'll take some of those M-100's. Aren't those things illegal?"

She's swatting flies and kiddies; I select a few more items, pay Mrs. Crazy and go.



I'm so ready for the Fourth Of July weekend. 'Cause nothing says "Let Freedom Ring" like blowing shit up on the Fourth.