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New year's eve

  I had a stomachache, and a headache. No one in the house shared my lack of enthusiasm of being in the house emotionally alone and in pain, so I went out for reasons only grey and hopeless people may truly know.

It was minutes before new year, and the sky was already filled with noisy, monochromatic explosionthings. You know the ones that make those coloured flower-showers that you see on Disneyland? Not these ones, no.

The park is a short walk from home. People gather there to get drunk and hold each other, and also to shoot bombs in the air, now I discovered. There were two kinds of shades of people, as I only went near enough to see shades of them against some weird smoke, the still ones and the moving ones.

The still ones were mostly families wasting their children's eardrums and imagination by making them see bad fireworks. The moving ones were drunk, and shooting bad fireworks.

As the new year finally came, they just went bonkers. My hopes of sparkly colourful fire-in-the-sky were dashed only 15 seconds in the new year, when nothing different ever came to light the sky, if not those bomb things that just boom without a single hint of green or red, just yellow, pale yellow, and then more yellow. 

One of the things, fired most certainly by some drunk bastard on a hill, almost hit me, making me note not to stay at lower ground at these events. It was just new year's eve, but I could swear for one moment that germans were firing artillery at me, and the whole thing was a live-action Call of Duty campaign

Sad and with my ear tinning, I went back home, fed my dog and imagined about the meaning of life. By then I was convinced it was not about getting rich or killing your evil enemies. It was even less so about fireworks.

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