Like many kids whose families made biannual treks down I-95 to Florida, I used to beg my mom to please let me stock up on all the brightly colored and colorfully named fireworks you could buy at places like South of the Border. And every year on July 4th, I’d still be stuck with my stupid sparklers while the kids down the block set off their Fiesta Bombs and Earth Shakers. But hey, at least I wasn’t breaking the law, no matter how awesome it would have been. [More]
