Fourth of July

My eyes fixated onto the radiant glare fired above the skyline; shooting stars in the moonlit sky. It was like neon paint was being propelled from a paintball marker onto an ebony canvas. I looked down onto the wooden planks, my toes hanging off the edge as I was sucked into the still water; an untouched replica of the neon glow from above.

I hadn’t planned on arriving in Texas on the Fourth of July but seeing as I had, I decided I may as well celebrate with the true American I was staying with. The streets were lined with local Arts and Crafts vendors and marching parades, waving the thirteen stripes that represent the British colonies that declared independence in 1776.

Both bridges were flooded with locals dressed in red white and blue, arriving early to claim their spot for the great event. A loud horn sounded, followed by a bang.
A ray of heads turned up to the sky, resembling a wave upon Mopac bridge. The flicker of light from the afterglow accentuated the jubilance expressed on the neighbouring faces, lighting the wonderment in their eyes.

I was reminded of when I had celebrated bonfire night the previous November, stood in a cold muddy park, my nose buried deep into my scarf. Except I was in Austin, with lights blazing from every skyscraper; vibrancy dominating the skyline reflected in the river. I stared up at the bright lights, taking in the crowd’s applause, reminding myself of the event I was celebrating. Better yet, a great one that I wouldn’t have experieced anywhere else other than with my toes hanging off of MoPac bridge.

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