July 2012 — I was playing on my Xbox when the storm hit.  I never watch the news, so I hadn’t really expected it.  So, when the lights started flickering, I thought that the fuzzy burrito I found buried in the futon might have been bad.  But then I realized what was happening and began to wish I hadn’t skipped going to the store so I could hijack more free Warez downloads off my neighbor’s unsecured Wi-Fi connection.  A giant flash of light, followed by a window-rattling boom, and everything went dead around 6 pm.  I wish I had a generator, but I blew all my extra cash on a 55-inch plasma.  It sure looks nice in the backlight of my cell phone.  Oh, well. 

At about 7:30, Hicks, my Xbox buddy from the townhouses up the road, showed up.  He’s kind of a doofus and prone to inappropriate remarks (e.g., “I’m bigger than this hot dog”), so I was tempted to tell him to leave, but then I saw a 12-pack of beer in his hands.  So, we knocked back a few, and watched the lightning flashes.  Hicks kept going on how he’d like to be in a girl’s dorm right about now.  That would be ridiculous; he shrieks like a little girl when a bug lands on him and would probably wet himself if a girl talked to him.  Nevertheless, he yammers on.  Man, I wish he’d shut up. 

Wind and hail beat against the windows, and several tree limbs fell on the balcony and crushed my charcoal grill.  No hotdogs for breakfast.  After that, Hicks and I sat in the dark, slurping beer until we passed out.  No idea when.  Heard Hicks get up and pee — hope he did it in the toilet this time.

Woke up to scuffling noises, so I looked for Hick, but he lay comatose in a puddle on the floor.  Guess he didn’t make it to the toilet after all — stupid oaf.  Anyway, by the time I got my bearings, I heard the unmistakable sounds of a generator kicking in next door at the Windor’s house.  Always prepared, that bunch. 

Good for them, but bad for me.  The incessant noise of their generator reverberates right under my bedroom window, so now my apartment appears to be having an epileptic fit — beer cans fall off my dresser, windows shake, as does my wall hanging of dogs playing poker.  Dodging the falling debris, I weaved through the dark to my couch.

CRUNCH

Ah, so that’s where my bag of cheese curls went.  Once past my soon-to-be breakfast and after navigating the minefield of crushed aluminum beer cans, I make it to my couch.  So stuffy and hot I didn’t need a blanket; I just lay in my alcohol-induced sweat and waited for dawn.  It came soon enough, though.

On to Day 2