290706, that's the date I was talking about. Every year, as if it were a (dare I say) "spiritual" experience, I manage to view the summer fireworks -- by myself, and just tune out the crowd while the skies light up. I had planned on going this year (on the aforementioned date) and I didn't. I'm not in the habit of breaking traditions but it became apparent that the last thing I needed was an added unnecessary burden. 'Cause that's what it is really; an overall sad experience. I have an endless supply of souvenirs attatched to the event, the area, the atmosphere and so on... but there's that special half hour where it all vanishes thanks to (generally beautiful) explosions in the sky. Once it's over and done with -- and yes, it does end so abruptly -- it's an exit-stage-left of grand proportions... as if nothing had transpired here. The loneliness kicks into high gear. The curtain call is a moment better shared by lovers and the date in question was an anniversary of lost love (or duplicity, call it what you will). Simply put, it would've been worse. I chose to avoid the deliberate cruelty of my annual affair, partie remise, maybe next year... it hasn't lost relevance because I regret not doing it; regardless of the concequences, efforts are (usually) rewarded. Something else will have to fill-in for it before the year ends.