We had planned on Friday night being rather uneventful. Olivier & I rented a couple of movies & were serenely stuffing our faces with a variety of snacks.
Then we heard a bomb go off…colorful flames & sparks appeared on the other side of the living room window. We both jumped up out of our seats & quite naturally, ran directly toward the threat.
Fireworks. It was the night before Bastille Day. We looked down on the street that lay 5 floors below us. There stood a group of what appeared to be 4 or 5 grown men who were firing off some very large fireworks at the buildings surrounding them, along with parked cars & motorcycles.
It was right about then that we had started to imagine cars exploding in front of our building, or the entire building burning down.
For the first time in his life, Olivier called the police. We are now officially on our way to becoming an old married couple, calling the cops on those damn crazy kids causing a ruckus.
The odd thing was, the next night, on Bastille Day, when the entire city was expecting fireworks & fire hazards, it was relatively quiet…nothing happened.
Maybe there’s something about the tradition of Bastille Day that I’m missing.[tags]Fireworks, Bastille Day[/tags]