Back to day 1

I’d like to say the sun woke me up, but I can’t.  I awoke to a coughing fit because of the stench that filled my nostrils.  Geez, did my apartment really smell this bad before the storm?  Then again, that was before Hicks arrived.  Speaking of which — where the hell is he?  Found his puddle, but not his rotting carcass.   Crap, still no power, I’d hoped it would be back on.  Oh well.  I had to open the windows to let out the smell, but that was only a partial solution; the neighborhood smelled like mildew and sweat.  At least the heat is less.  I have no idea when the power will come back on.  Screw it — might as well take a shower.  Maybe there is still some heat left in the water heaters.  No dice — teeth-chattering cold shower.  Kept it short.

Hicks showed back up — said he was out doing “reconnaissance” in the neighborhood — whatever the hell that means.  I told him to clean up his mess before I slipped in it.  He went off grumbling about adding me to his list.  Hicks partially cleaned up his mess before crashing on the couch.  Hosed his stain with Lysol.  Found an old grocery store receipt with a bunch of names on it, in his chicken scrawl.  It looks like a list of my neighbors — each one has a bunch of acronyms next to it, like OB, GC, NRA, and GE.  WTF?  I’ll find out later.

Time to get organized. Opened freezer, meat still cold, but for how long?  Better cook it before we must toss it.  No power — no Foreman. Guess I’ll have to dig out the old propane stove from my camping gear.  I’d have used my charcoal grill, but my neighbor’s tree took care of that option.  Perhaps I could lean over and drop it onto their generator.  It would serve them right.  Oh well, the propane stove still works.   Time for a grill-out.  Plus, I still have a bunch of non-perishables. Thank you, canned spaghetti.

Hicks is up again.  I ask about the receipt, and he looks at me kind of cagey and says he has a “special plan.”  Okay.  I told him we had to cook all the meat we had, otherwise it would go bad.  He’s up for that, the big carnivore.  I end up eating meat till my bowels ache.  Finish the last of the beer.  Sad day.

The phone rings, no caller ID, but I picked it up anyway.  My boss at QuickEMart wants me to come in and put in a double shift. I may not have power, but the corporate douche bags do. Go figure. Plus, if I wasn’t two months behind on my rent, I’d tell him to screw it.  So, I put on my “uniform” — a blue shirt with my name stenciled on it and a black pair of pants.  I love those things. I don’t have to wash them, but I do a couple of times a month unless I get my hands on powdered donuts.  Hicks says he’ll watch my place to keep looters out.  Hey, like anyone would want my crap.  But I don’t care. Just make sure you don’t make a mess.

On to day 3