Hurricane, 3.

SUNDAY

Foggy Manhattan, post-storm.

At some point around 2am, we couldn't stay awake any longer. I slept uneasily, listening to the fighting of the cats, to Andrew turning on the rubber air mattress. I listened for the air conditioning, waiting for the moment when surely the power would go out.

Mostly I listened for the wind, the howling, whipping winds that would surely drive us into the safety of the bathroom. It never came.

I awoke with a start at 10:30 am, turning immediately to the window. Face pressed against the cool glass, I stared, dumbfounded, at the family on the sidewalk, children splashing in a small puddle. The air conditioning churned happily from the ceiling.

The storm was over. Had it even begun? I was right about the double-paned windows, in any case. We didn't hear a sound.

Satisfied that the storm had dissipated, I let the bathtub drain. We pulled on rubber boots and headed outside for a look at the damage.

Peanut butter welly time.

Puddle outside our door; umbrella casualty.

Wading on Main St.

Wading. Surprised how clear the rainwater is.

Evidence of wind?

Whose creepy doll is this?

Storm surge line, outside Bubby's.

Unnecessary preparations on Water St.

The gents on an untouched Water St.

And so goes our first hurricane. Back to your regularly scheduled Sunday brunch.