Ogasms are like fireworks. None are ever completely the same, although some times the feelings are similar, comfortable, and sparkly. And every now and then, something new and beautiful is seen and felt, and the world just seems a lighter, brighter place with a bang.

We watch the fireworks from the porch, Frank and I, sitting perhaps too far apart. I have Tony on the radio, and he has a beer to which he is paying more attention than the shiny things above. It is a still and peaceful night, but you can hear the rumbles from the park in the distance. I am thinking how easy it would be to shoot someone on the fourth of July- no one would ever hear the sounds amidst the fireworks. Even some neighbors a street or three over are shooting rockets, so I am enjoying a layered effect of shine. I like watching on the porch, instead of crammed in the park and jostled and dogs and police searching for booze and drugs. It's just me and Frank and Tony and the pretty sparkly things.

I fetch him another beer, and wonder where I can fetch a gun. I used to shoot, years ago. Hold your breath and lean into the cool steel barrel, line up the sights and sqeeze. I just never wanted to shoot anything that moved.

I like the fireworks. I like the ones that branch and shoot off echoes of the first explosion, like ripples intersecting ripples in a pond when I skip a rock across. Fireworks are pretty.  ¶ 2:57 PM