Dispatch from the home front: hurricane watch

Sandy’s coming to town. Hey girl.

Red Hook is mostly deserted, the blocky homes and project buildings and warehouses quiet but for the steady sibilance of the wind. Even though we’re in an evacuation zone, we see the occasional straggler, and I’m certain that the walls here shield plenty of stubborn souls. The streets are littered with yellow leaves and fragments of trees. Road signs quiver, wobble in the wind. Power lines undulate. Our jeans speckle at first before clinging to our knees, shiny. My vision is mottled by the droplets on my glasses; I squint but it doesn’t help much. Everything is grey grey grey.
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