Episode 6: What Lonely People Sometimes Do

Two days past July fourth, a neighbor is still shooting off loud fireworks at three in the morning. Terrastina looks through the bedroom window down the street. She sees a distant silhouette of the neighbor crouching in his driveway, a cigarette hanging from his lips. He uses the burning tip to light the fuse, then steps back. The missile rises to a height of thirty feet or so and blows up with a window rattling explosion. Is he finished? asks Mazolli, drowsy and irritated. I don’t know, says Terrastina. I’ve never seen a man so upset over a divorce.