It was a sticky hot July Fourth. I sat on an old blanket draped over a scorching sidewalk. There were hundreds of people lined up and down the street in chairs, on blankets, and milling about. I was too hot to care. The doldrums had a hold of me and I didn’t bother looking around. I was supposed to watch the little kids, but they were busy dripping popsicles all over themselves.

Soon screaming sirens crawled past, candy flew out and the children ran out to scoop up every last piece as if it were wrapped in gold leaf.

There was a large gap in the procession as a cavalcade of mounted police stopped to raise the flag and play the national anthem every block or so. People began jaywalking across the street to talk to friends who had grabbed some sidewalk opposite from them.

Someone walked by with a pizza from the diner up the street and my stomach rumbled. I almost wished I hadn’t been on parole because the kleptomaniac in me saw every opportunity to snag some pizza as the rightful owner sat beside us.