Today's manisfestation of WIND STORM APOCALPSE 2006 was that the Starbucks we customarily get coffee from on the weekend had no grande or venti lids and would only sell small or else medium drinks in venti cups. There was also a 40 minute wait at the drive through as the clerk kept having to explain this to people and listen to their reaction.
We continue running the heater for fear that the power will go out again. We figure that way it will be as warm as possible if it does, since we're out of firelogs.
Now I'm typing in all those words that I did by hand over the last couple of days. Here's one of my favorite sections so far:
In one of the places where the Square's crowds momentarily gave way to a clear space, a mermaid sat coiled in a bathtub of sea water, an immense metal tub whose clawed feet clutched wooden rollers. A brake lever near the unused taps was fixed in place, keeping the tub from rolling down the slight easterly decline. Her hair had the same gilt gleam as the brass fixtures, the hot and cold taps wound round with strings of pea-sized, pearly beads that half obscured the metal. The spigot had a brass chain soldered to it, the other end leading to the collar of an anorexic white kitten that wandered near the foot end of the bathtub, eying the mermaid with mingled antipathy and fascination.
A brass basket was fastened to the outside of the tub's curved rim, a third full of copper and silver coins. She sang as she combed her glittering, gleaming hair with a toothed scallop shell. Her gills were like feathered ruffs in the hollows of her skeletal throat, veined like internal organs, dark blue arteries and fanned capillaries, anemone and lace.