4th
My phone rings in my pocket, and I pull it out, and it's my buddy, and I'm lost, and I'm running low on rum and coke, and jesus christ.It's the fourth of july, and I am walking around in a strange neighborhood, and i was half in the bag three drinks ago, and where the fuck are my friends and he asks me where I am and I tell him I don't know, because I don't.
To my left, God runs his fingers down the fabric of the night sky, and everywhere his fingers touch there are lights and terrific explosions. I sit down on top of a hill, next to a Ford Explorer, both of us larger than we need to be and very american.
God continues to caress the night sky, and my mouth slips halfway open as I discover that I really am holding a drink, and I know this because I've just poured it on my ankle, which is only exposed because I am sitting cross legged in the grass next to an American Ford Explorer wearing short socks and my jeans are wet now.
Bugs in the trees chant rhythmically together all at the same time, as though our moment in reality were being filed upon by some cheeky bastard in the fourth dimension with a rasp, and I am enjoying the fourth of july with my hispanic and black and white brothers and sisters, because we are all americans.
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