A friend of mine who spent the last year working on the Gulf Coast for Americore, sifting, sorting and rebuilding, casually dropped the fact that forecasters predict this will be the worst hurricane season in decades. I winced, turned back and asked what Americore and FEMA would do to prepare the Coast. He then, just as casually dropped the fact that, given the winds sitting over the Atlantic, the hurricanes shouldn’t hit New Orleans, Mississippi, or even Florida.
“Really? So, like, Texas then?”
“They’re predicting they’ll hit anywhere between D.C. and Boston.”
Picture a long pause here.
“…And how many storms are there gonna be?”
“Like six catagory fours or above.”
I would bitch about getting so soaked in the flash floods we’ve had in the last couple days that my five block walk to the subway has rendered a shower redundant, turning my loose fitting khakis into an ass framing wetsuit, and how, quite frankly, no one needs to see that, but considering the above bits of information, and considering the view out my office window, I’ll simply say this:
“Who’s happy they live and work on an Island?!?”