It went on until about 11pm, then they started up again, according to Cavan, a little after one. At approximately three, I woke up to the sound of the screaming, whistling kind of fireworks. I headed downstairs to finally ask them to please shut the f–k up, at which point I saw the sassy divorcee across the street in her jammies saying the exact same thing.
Walking the dogs this morning was like going through a landfill; beer cans, cigarette butts, taco and burger wrappers, shattered glass, and of course the charred remains of what appeared to be several hundred dollars’ worth of explosives. Those were in the street, in the grass, all over the sidewalk, and even on top of people’s cars.
I can’t wait until Wednesday.