Well passed midnight, Fourth of July, 1999.
Mike Frazier and I packed our backpacks full of illegal fireworks my uncle scored us from Kentuckabamassippi or somewhere deep in the south. We walked to our high school and began lighting anything and everything we pulled out of our bags.
Then came the roman candles (if you're not familiar, it's a cylindrical pipe stuffed full of fire-y balls of goodness that shoot rapidly out into the air and POP. Brilliant!
I lit the first roman candle and began chasing Frazier, aiming the pipe directly at him. He sped away, fumbling a roman candle of his own in his hands as he nervously attempted to ignite it. As my roman candle ran out of ammunition i slowed my pursuit and laughed my ass off. I turned around and walked in the opposite direction. Just as Frazier got his lit, and before i could even realize he did, i was pelted with one of the fire balls in my back. Frazier was only about 10 feet away from me when it launched at me and the pressure of the sphere forced the fire ball THROUGH my shirt and the burning plastic melded to my back.
I couldn't dare be mad at Frazier, since that was in fact the exact thing i JUST attempted on him. And anger was extremely hard to come by, seeing as how i lied there struggling to catch my breath from my furious battle with laughter.
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