Bodega | Eighties Radiance

Dusk on Independence Day, Dad and I walk downtown to see the fireworks in Washington, DC. Beyond the Pentagon, we cross a footbridge onto an island lit by fireflies, then pop out at a chain of tailgate parties stretching down the parkway. Puffs of meat smoke drift along the riverbank, sideburned dads sip Michelob, and rattail boys lunge their lightsabers. Night falls fast as we jostle along with a throng, past the bronzes of Mars and Pegasus that mark entry into the city. Nestling down on a patch of grass, a bottle rocket flares in the air, vanishing in a sea of people. With a boom, a willow of yellow etches the sky and cascades as haze—then come bees, palms, and comets. In a cloak of gunpowder smoke, two lovers wade into the reflecting pool. A kook in a shark suit slips in behind them. Amid his circling fin, the beloveds fuse their bodies into a sole shadow. Dad winces as the lovers lock in a kiss. I stare, certain their joy will outshine the finale.

148 – June 2025

By David Daniel

Eighties Radiance