Fourth Of July In The New American Rome

It's been 8 years since I sat in a jail cell on the Nisqually Indian reservation. I'd been arrested for stealing an American flag from a utility pole. In my over-enthusiastic patriotism I'd failed to take into account that the flag in question might be missed amongst the hundreds on display that sunny fourth of July day in Lacey, Washington—namely missed by the police sergeant whose children had fundraised all year with bake sales and car washes to pay for and display said flags. 

The irony of my incarceration was not lost on my Native American captors: A white-boy brought in by a black police officer and booked in a jail built on an Indian reservation, on the charge of stealing the highest, most-sacred symbol of a nation on the 233rd anniversary of its founding.

"I feel you, man. I love this country, but the 4th of July is hard for me and my people too", the Native jail guard chuckled.

Later that day, my drunken accomplices walked into the Nisqually jail. They waved a brand-new American flag (made in China) they'd bought for me at a local Walmart, and they posted my bail. I changed out of the orange jumpsuit the guards had given me, and back into my jeans and boots and I walked out into the sun a free man once more.

Since that day I’ve traveled far and experienced much. I DJ'ed parties for the likes of the Hells Angels. I became the president of an outlaw bike club. I made myself a tool of some the most prominent brands on the planet. I created uniforms for the Olympic Games, and developed Wimbledon championship tennis ensembles. I helped design the most technologically advanced retail spaces on the planet. I’ve watched wars begin and drag on, I’ve watched mass hysteria arise and subside over diseases and firearms and refugees and many, MANY other needless things. I've rediscovered my love for the martial arts and I've mastered my alcoholism. I've fallen in Love.

Much has changed; some for the better, much for the worse. I've found myself and continued creating myself over and over and over again. But despite it all, a part of me of me is still that mischievous young man who stole the American flag on the fourth of July, a proud, unapologetic citizen of the New American Rome in its last days.

I go by Ehzi. How can we help each other live our dreams before the world burns down around us?