Fireworks are heavily regulated in the Bay Area and California, but that doesn’t stop people from sneaking in their own bootleg explosives from Nevada or elsewhere. (Here, bootleg is a loose synonym for exciting). There’s an open residential area by the post office where neighbors gather and blow up their entire stash, and dad would take us each year to watch some homegrown magic. We only had to duck for cover once.
But that era is over, the police have shut it down. Ho hum. I’m sitting at home now. I still hear fireworks in the distance, but I’m not sure where they’re coming from.