A stroll through downtown shows the shops boarded up and the little taco stands with sandbags at their doors and white snowflakes of tape on their windows. The tape is to contain the mess after the windows implode. I don’t buy it.
The hurricane is coming; I hear it is building up great speed. Emily sits outside the barren coast and premeditates an onslaught.
The rain ended hours ago; amidst the klaxons and foghorns. The television overlays warning for six passing tornadoes were in vain, but they did so as the windows leaked grainy rainwater on the sill.
Emily was headed right towards our crowded Wal~Mart’s and other places of inevitable safe haven. For a moment out little city was blotted out by a larger and more reckless cloud; a cloud that destroyed not so much out of greed but obedience to low pressure.
The winds blew above a whisper or the sharp exhale of a lover; but in the end it was only the cat that was annoyed for having to give up his windowsill for the afternoon.
Tomorrow is a big day though. Tomorrow I am going to urinate in a cup to assure my brethren that I am clean and free. I will piss to the rim of that opaque jar and send it off to be sniffed by noses trained in the art of detecting narcotics and opiates. This will be my key to a new future, and for that I am glad. My ambitions are wearing off just like this sour hurricane…
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