Storm & Drink

With Hurricane Katrina slamming Miami, I'm reminded of a late summer evening almost twenty years ago when another powerful monsoon threatened the Bay Area with high winds and localized flooding.
My best pal, then most often referred to simply as The Doctor, suggested we ride out the storm on the wraparound porch of a recently-vacated woodframe.
Purchasing a pair of cheap twelvers from the last open Circle K for miles and feeding the boombox fresh D-cells, we proceeded to trespass and settle ourselves on the floor at the westerly end.
We tuned to the local AM news and followed the storm's progression as the slightly more sane might an SEC championship, growing ever drunker and giddier as the winds picked up and howled. The announcer was warning of storm surge, mandatory evacuations and power outages. Our biggest worry was that our dope might get wet.
Sure enough, the surrounding homes and street lights soon went very dark indeed, sheets of horizontal rain forcing our little party ever nearer the wall at our backs.
For the first time in a long while I had begun to become truly frightened. What were the folks doing right now? Where was my cat? Why hadn't we gotten more ice?
I don't remember a whole lot after that. My stomach went sour, the storm passed, we packed up our shit and went home.
Sure, I was thankful we both didn't die. But one day I feel we just might.