They lit another one, and the shock of it going off threw them back about a foot. They watched the sky as another illegal firework blasted in bright blues. Beer cans scattered the ground as they stumbled, laughing and admiring their work. They were on a dirt road by the crick near the woods where no one would see them. They were shooting towards a clearing somewhere. Only in small towns like this could they get away with it. No one gave a shit about them. The police had better things to do then arrest a couple of kids. One of them passed out by the fire, beer can still in hand. Cheap PBRs. The only kind you can get someone old enough to buy you. The last one was still awake and sat down. He watched the fire sparkle in front of him, knowing he’ll have a hangover in the morning. But he didn’t care. He did this shit all the time. He couldn’t wait to get out of this stuck-in-a-rut town. No more fields. No more farms. He toppled over. He was pretty drunk. At least his Ma won’t be home – babysitting their cousin while her mom works late. With a slight chuckle, he too, passed out, beer can crushed.