If You're Going to San Francisco

The wind was keening as we were sleeping. Gale force and fast, it made for a shrill drone in my dreams. Then we heard Hailey's scream. The instrument room had flooded.

Cables and pedals were addressed first. The marumba was then moved to higher ground, its wood already warping. Amps were stacked. The bass drum went to the bathroom, but the high hats and cymbals withstood the rising waters, proudly. They would beat once more.

The landlady was called and her tenants scrambled to clean the dregs of the keg and cocktails. "Do you have a shop vac?" she said. "Do you have renter's insurance?"

The grocery store stayed open, though, despite the lack of power. We left our friends to deal with dampness and hoarded food for the storm. In the darkness customers walked slower, squinting at the shelves and using cell phones as light. Grocery employees had begun the task of moving refrigerated items to the beer cooler, which seemed to have a separate generator. No one looted. Everyone remained calm.

What's the weather doing?