Speaking of Independence Day, Jesus Fuck, this neighborhood was a bloody warzone last night. I have never endured such a barrage of amateur fireworks, even though most of my life has been spent living in cities. Only by a combination of chance and wet weather did the Armory District not burn to the ground. Fucking idiots. Fireworks are 100% illegal in Rhode Island, and also in Massachusetts, but apparently there's a healthy illegal black-market trade from Connecticut. I read people went to jail this year, for bringing them into Rhode Island, though clearly, enough people did not go to jail. Last night, for at least two or three hours the windows rattled as fireworks meant to explode hundreds of feet high were detonated at ground level. Finally, the cops showed up, the cops and the fire department and ambulances, because there had been some sort of accident in a nearby park, an SUV and a bicycle, and things began to calm down. I'm pretty sure the fools trying to blow up Federal Hill weren't in any way celebrating the 4th of July. They just thought it would be cool to blow shit up. Then again, isn't that the heart and soul of American expansionism? Or at least its fist. The bomb, the rocket's red fucking glare? Oh, and yeah, I know if I were a real writer —— you know, the sort who write "reviews" for Amazon —— I wouldn't need all this fucking profanity to express my fucking thoughts. Sure.
Spooky just reported that, in fact, all the libraries are closed today. Brown. The Athenaeum. The public libraries. Beautiful.
Not much else to yesterday. When the writing was done, I just felt sick. I lay down on the bed, and Spooky read me the first chapter of The Golden Compass. I hate that, being a writer and all, being the writer I am, all I can really think of when I listen to her read me fiction is, "Why didn't I write this?" We made a trip to the market to get dinner for last night and tonight. Much later, we watched Men in Black (1997). Still love it. We drove about the neighborhood a little at some point (that must have been before the movie), and a thick, smelly gunpowerdy haze lay over everything. Little pretend wars. I think I got to bed about three ayem. Shit was still exploding. I only hope —— if there is a thimble's worth of justice — that many are missing fingers this afternoon.
So...no library. And the internet is only so good for this sort of research. I suppose I will try press on, somehow, and attempt to finish Chapter Two this weekend. Like they say in the Land of Whores and Celluloid, I can fix it in post.