path: root/new-oleans-number-2.txt

There are thin silvery white cracks in the clouds. They burn into the backs of your eyelids when you blink. Thunder arrives before I can get to three. The bus is a sauna, windows shut tight and fogged. I like watching the beads of water run down the vastness of windshield. I have a bag packed and should probably go, but there's something very peaceful about the clatter of rain on the roof, the rivulets of water running down the windows. The storm feels closer when you're in here, you have to confront more of it when your walls are only two inches thick. Even more of it when your walls are made of nylon, which I know several people in this campground are doing right now. Compared to them, this is nothing. But then it is a cozy 105 degree sauna as well.