The shoulders of many "computer people."
After some drinks and burgers, any chance you had at thinking that your uncle was just playfully racist.
Your desire to get into pyrotechnics as you watched your dad's shed burn down.
The notion of life in the inner city being "a great place for mortars."
Your track record of lying to the police and getting away with it.
Any hope of you being on Top Chef
while your burgers burned to a crisp on the grill.
Your fingers and pride after your many failed attempts to write your name in sparklers for Snapchat.
The lily white skin of your upper thighs after you fell asleep in the sun after one too many beergaritas.
Your lungs, from inhaling the firework smoke that hung around the state for the entirety of the weekend.