freedom, freedom, freedom

awoke under a mid-evening dull blaze. the fan rigged into the window wafting in smells of gun powder, barbequed meats, alcohol mixed with salty sweat seeping through porous foreheads, and an undulating ozone taunting us with the beginnings of an electrical storm.
made our way to shaws grocery and sav-mor liquors -- whose sign read something along the lines of burning out your nose hairs and free hotdogs -- to acquire the mandatory kit for a successful july 4th celebration: booze and meats. Had a lavish BBQ for two: swordfish, burgers, cobbed corn, green beans, guacamole, and sat in the backyard immersed in an air that was as hot and thick like freshly made gelatin until dusk, when we scoured the train tracks to the Kendal MIT parkade, the tallest structure around to attain a more eminent vantage point.
Arrived to the 8th floor, when we realized that this must be known firework contemplating location, as there were already families dawdling around their automobiles in throes, one young couple, perhaps lesbians, rolling around like sausages in a pan, making out on the tarmac while a husky onlooker watched with his gut held up by the back of his pontiac.
The horizon, open, and flat, made me feel like I was in the middle of a snow-globe, where the sides just end and fall off. In the northern sky, the electrical storm cut into the sky with fork lightning and dominated all the little pockmark-like fireworks that were erupting up from new england'ers backyards. Ten minutes before the allocated launch time of the fireworks, we looked around and saw a parking-lot that mimicked chaotic christmas-time rush shopping, only people were pleasant, full of libations, and sitting on top of their cars, some wearing illuminated paraphernalia, others themed in the appropriate coloring.
After the first few sprigs of pyrotechnics were launched, rain, a downpour really, two tablespoon sized droplets fell and bounced off the concrete knee-high. It was this, coupled with the fancy cube-shaped fireworks that enticed the group six cars down to chant: freedom, freedom, freedom.
The rain cleared, and the grand-finale slowly enveloped.
We, like thousands others filled the streets to attend our after-parties, all fully aware that we will feel like shit at work the next day, but that comes with the territory.