Hurricane Sandy: An Account – Part One


The wind was furious as I barreled down the highway.

I was without the ability to work from home, and the only option was to brave the elements and attempt to wire my laptop to accept work emails, sensing that I may not be returning for a few days – I was off by an entire week.

Trees rattled like unchained shackles along the median, leaves and nests abandoned their summer homes and tumbled to somewhere only the rain knows, and the tires of my car struggled to stay between the lines like an early morning lush trying to find their way home.

The parking lot was desolate, save for the security guard whose radioactive vest reflected the few shades of light that escaped through the clouds. He ignored me as I moved into the building and a satisfying beep unlocked the doors to my office.

It was cold and dark before the lights fluttered to life and that familiar buzz filled my ears.

An orphaned newspaper dated several days prior was tossed on the floor, scrawled on its front page the insidious architecture of Hurricane Sandy. A lonely American Flag waved listlessly, Halloween decorations festooned the ceiling grid. I was the only one with enough will, or stupidity, to make the trip, and I could tell it was already time to leave as the windows shuddered.

I was unable to find what I came for, so I fed the office pets – a pair of mohawked fish – and fled the cadaver cold office. My car was now the lone occupant of the parking lot – the security guard gone – as I turned the key and whipped out of the parking lot.

The wind howling at my mechanical heels…

Part Two

 

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