Side Chapter: Alone And Admitted
Fireworks were pretty as shit.
Must have been the six millionth and one time he's seeing them, half of those millions he's the one lighting them, and a fraction of those numbers would occasionally earn him a trip to the freezer for some ice cubes to treat some smoke-barbecued boo-boos.
Regardless, give it another six million and one, millions more first-degree burns, once they go whistling and crackling in the sky like stars exploding, they'd still be just as pretty.
After all, true beauty never really fades away, does it? They're like breasts, in a way. Always glorious, dopamine uproarious.