Irma, you are like a hurricane

Hello. Here’s what’s going on.

1. No gas station or market in Florida has water. This is due to an addiction to bottled water as powerful as to any opioid. A man in Coral Terrace may have to resort to the catastrophic and potentially life-threatening probability of filling plastic jugs with water from the tap or — hard times — the garden hose.

2. Gas stations, markets, and liquor stores, however, have plenty of wine. I don’t understand.

3. Local meteorologists have been less hysterical than drivers. I saw a Doral woman somersault into a Hess station after spying a half empty bottle of Pellegrino and a bag of pepperoni-flavored Combos a child had left on the counter.

4. It took an uncategorizable Category 5 storm to get me to check The Presidency of George H.W. Bush out of the library (Also reading: James Salter’s All That Is).

5. Otherwise I’m okay. Three days off before the storm. Accordion shutters. First floor apartment. No flood zone. Every storm creates rules by which we define future ones. Please send no prayers — only money and Jae Gyllenhaals.

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