We have had three nights planning the purchase of illegal fireworks; nothing could go wrong. Everybody in the car ride is as silent as if they just ripped a fart in a crowded subway train. We are going fifteen miles under the speed limit in a beat-up 1990 Toyota Corolla. Every Illinois cop we’ve seen, we made a special note to pull out in front of them and thank them for their service. The reek of cheese ripples through the air, the Wisconsin border is fast approaching. As we enter the state, our stomachs are not having it, and we…