America 250: Higher an Insane Asylum Than a Morgue

The USA is popping 250. As I write this, sprawled out in a shallow inflatable pool in my yard, a gull-winged WWII-era Corsair has simply thundered low over the bushes. The rumble of warbirds has been rolling throughout the sky all day. It stirs a sense deep inside me, not of sentiment however of a potent mixture of dopamine and adrenaline and gunpowder. A sense of hazard and pleasure verging on psychosis. My head is swimming from the warmth, and I really feel like I’m going insane. I like it.