It was a cold rain, a hard rain, the kind of rain that bludgeons umbrellas and chases pedestrians into the warm embrace of public transportation. The water congealed into puddles, the puddles into ponds, the ponds into lakes, and the lakes to?....larger lakes, he mused, without sediment. Then his eyes filled with moisture, a brackish mix of rain and tears, as he thought about people who didn’t have insurance in the flood zone (not to be confused with “flooding the zone”, a tactic used in football to overwhelm zone defenses against the forward pass). But he was comforted by the thought that, if circumstances worsened, if the levees were breached or broken, salt water intrusion into the delta would be forestalled. Salt water intrusion is a bad thing, although he didn’t know why. And, if the situation became desperate, FEMA would come. FEMA would step in and do a heckuva job.
(Inspired by Edward Bulwer-Lytton)
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