It is Monday, the start of a holiday week ending in flash and bang and a weird mix of chest-thumping strut and standing around in the driveway with friends getting lit-up on ice-cold fizzy stuff masquerading as beer. And I will be out there doing the July 4 driveway dance myself, minus the faux suds and snobbishly gripping a Foster’s Ale oil can in my free hand instead, lighting a few things on fire that shoot sparks up at the night sky, belch black smoke and papery ash, and sound like gunfire, because, by God, America.
But in the meantime, this Monday on a week that ends in a Friday holiday. Which kinda makes today a Tuesday, come to think of it. Which is kind of like opening a present you expect to be tube socks and finding an all-cotton T-shirt of your favorite old rock ‘n’ roll band instead.
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