wenBLOG

Ahh, summer time in the city…

Last night as my family and I were huddled down in the flammable 3-story victorian bomb shelter we call home in our “fashionable section” of the city of Cleveland, we watched and listened to the never-ending caucophony of firecrackers, bottle rockets, gunfire, roman candles, dynamite (I shit you not) and sundry other explosive display and destructive devices rattling through our seldom quiet (but much less so last night) neighborhood.  At one point in the evening, the folks across the back alley thought it necessary to string together 19 (I timed it) minutes of continuously exploding firecrackers which were then followed up by the irregularly cycled intermittent bottle rocket or roman candle.  This neighbor’s outpouring of sound and sight expression though was not to be outdone and was matched by at least 5 or 6 others within a three block radius of my hacienda.

Truly a good time to be had by all (or at least anyone holding a 40 ouncer, a lighter, and an absolute disregard for civilized society).

Finally around 1 AM after the neighborhood entertainment had retired to the local dive bar or passed out from a little too much malt liquor, I did a cursory review of the palatial Robinson estate to ensure that no still lit errant rocket or other item had fallen unconsummated in its purpose upon the grounds (don’t laugh, I’ve been out there on more than one occasion with the hose putting out fires in the lawn thanks to some moron’s indiscretion) - I stumbled to bed mumbling to my wife that I was an idiot for ever thinking that we could make this city a better place.

And then my wife (who is perhaps the most kind-hearted human being I have ever met - hey she took pity on this poor soul and married me) said something that I was thinking, but didn’t say, “I just wish for once, the firecracker would blow up in that idiot’s hand.”

Amen.