Guerilla Fireworks

The Fourth of July is always interesting in Pasadena, because from my apartment I can usually see five different fireworks shows. There's the big one at the Rose Bowl, and then some of the nearby communities have their own displays, surrounding me with glowing, exploding sparkles. This year, however, because of the bad economy most of the non-Rose-Bowl shows were canceled. I did still get to see the best show, however, and that is the pirate fireworks hustle going on in Altadena.
   Altadena sits adjacent to Pasadena but to the North, into the foothills. It's got its good parts and bad parts, but evidently the area is home to a merry band of scofflaws/ fireworks enthusiasts. Every Fourth, about 9 PM-ish, I can stand on my balcony and look North to Altadena and see mini-rockets going off. These are the kind you can buy on an Indian reservation, big-ass tubes of gunpowder straight from China; they don't go up as high as the ones at the Rose Bowl, but they're loud and bright and every bit as beautiful.
   You'll see a rocket on the East side of Altadena, maybe two in a row, gold and red or maybe greenish blue. Then nothing. Then another rocket or two about a mile West of the first ones. Then nothing. Then another rocket or two even further West. Then nothing. Then some more rockets a little South.
   Then you'll hear the police sirens. And the rockets stop for a few minutes while the band of ne'er do wells lay low. Then the whole thing starts up again, launch and run, launch and run. Guerilla fireworks.
   While I feel for the people of Altadena - it's got to be unnerving having huge fireworks go off over your head unexpectedly - the fourteen-year-old inside me relishes the notion of shooting off great big rockets then having to run from the police to do it again. And again. And again.
   I tell you, it's a good thing I don't use my powers for evil, you'd all be in a lot of trouble...