The clouds broke. There were rows of color in the blankets spread over the hillside. A young woman danced. Laughing, the man next to her put his arm around her shoulder and kissed her forehead.
A little girl in front of us ate shaved ice - her lips were dyed blue raspberry. Across the street, a small group of people sat on a rooftop with their legs dangling over the side. There were dark trees behind the stage, and across the highway rose the basilica, warm with the sun. The air smelled like grass, beer, and smoke. The fringe on Sharon Jones' dress shook violently. In my beer-stained jeans, leaning against Aaron's chest, I was happy.