(Note - On August 14, 2003, there was a big honking blackout up and down the Eastern seabooard. Perhaps you heard about it.)
I left at 6:30 AM, nervous about my cat being alone all night. (Ridiculous. I know. He didn't give a shit. It's my first cat. Cut me some slack.) The streets were filthy, though, at last, empty. I was sad to see my beloved bike path trashed, but where else was the garbage going to go?
When I got back to my building I realized: no elevator. I would have locked my bike in the lobby, but the lobby was already full. As was the next landing. People had just ditched their bikes along the way, as they hiked up the stairs. It was a little sad for some reason.
I took a shower and passed out for a few hours, then went over to Cinde's. We went to the bagel place on Bedford but they had just sold the last PB&J on white bread. Outside a very pregnant woman stood miserably while her husband tried to hustle a ride out of town for them on his cellphone. Cinde told me there was a parade that had passed by her building the night before, and it sounded like fun, but she hadn't been able to see anything. Someone had played a trombone, she said. She had slept through most of the night, her life pretty much unchanged because she didn't have air conditioning in the first place.
Me? I had no AC, no email, no cellphone, no tv, and no food. What was I going to do with my day? Let this be a lesson to everyone. Blackouts have the potential to be very boring.
I biked over on a very quiet Kent Avenue to Fort Greene, to see if I could rustle up some fun with Chris. He and his roommate and his girlfriend were sitting out back, and somehow heard me yelling from half a block away. And it was then that I realized that even though I am broke right now, even if I am broke forever (I'm not planning on it, don't worry), or if I am ever in trouble, or if something fucked up happens, like, say, a blackout, I will always be taken care of by my friends. This is a good feeling.
Please note the godawful Lowenbrau logo to the right of Chris' head. He'll never be a true metrosexual with that kind of decor.
And since I'm feeling all hopeful and inspired today, I'll end this with photos of Pinky's newborn kitties. Stay cool.
