Sunday, July 6, 2008

Independence Day at the Convention Center



Artlessly we wandered over, found others aimlessly circling. Around back, people had driven up and raised their hoods. Steam-cleaned engines of ordinary cars and cars spouting jets of carburetors, gleaming exhaust pipes examined in passing as the band played--scratchy guitars on "Green River." Security guards with dark glasses askew. Inside the Convention Center: What does it mean to be here now? Bored families eating ice cream and staring out across an expanse of neutral carpeting. It was still early. Money changed hands--fireworks for the kids. Clouds gathered. Soon it would rain, and the lobby would grow crowded with damp patriots. I fell asleep to the sound of the explosions, dreaming of waves against wood, of hands rising and falling.

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