reading Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman, page 175

It was as if fireworks had been let off in the room. Not indoor fireworks, strange crawling things that sputter and smell bad; nor even the kind of fireworks you set off in your back yard; but the kind of industrial-strength fireworks that get fired up high enough to cause a potential menace to the air-ways; the kind of fireworks that end a day at Disney World, or that give the fire marshals headaches at Pink Floyd concerts. It was a moment of pure magic.