Ate a Boca burger on a roll, drank too many sodas, ODed on pined apple.

Tonight was a war at Trevor's house, bottle rockets shot from pipes at opposing teams, cardboard shelters on either side, wide expanse of lawn between us, smoke bombs lit, talking the dirtiest of battle lingo, soundtrack to Pirates of the Carribean blasted on loud speakers in the yard. My right breast is singed and burned, sparks from my own rocket. The friendliest fire. Trevor's amazing mom performing an interpretative 'The dance of the Seven Sparklers' to an Earth Wind and Fire song, batonning sparklers. Encouraging all of us to dance "for those who can't! Rachael: imagine you are a beautiful ballerina!" and I danced in the streets clutching two massive fire sticks. Telling us after too many bottle rockets had been launched into the neighbors tress that "the police are coming. Shelters down! Grab hands! sing Kumbahah! Your father will fist fight the man, and I don't want to miss it!" She makes me want to be a mother someday.