2001-07-11 - 6:35 p.m.

The sky explodes. Nate and I peek out our screen door and, after I peel off my socks and shove them into my pocket, we step out into the storm.

The rain pelts the porch, coming in at an angle to avoid the lip of a roof overhead. On the ground below, a woman screeches and runs to her door. We step out further into the storm, halfway between our comfortable home and the whipping winds of the storm beyond. The water hits our glasses and obscures our view of the parking lot; it smears the light of the lampposts into splotchy white rings.

�How long do we have to stand out here?� Nate asks.

�I don�t know. Maybe we have to stand out here for hours,� I say.

�This is a possibility that must be considered,� he says.

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