While the impact Hurricane Sandy had on the east coast lingers on, Americans west of Pennsylvania (and certainly down in Australia) may still have a hard time contextualizing the carnage.
Driving along the coast--by New Jersey's Seaside Heights and Lavalette beach towns--the destruction was more than obvious. Vacation and residential homes, some three stories high, were moved like ivory balls on a pool table. Floors (mid-floors, not basements or attics) were dissected from their homes and littered along the beach.
In Manhattan, the post-Sandy Financial District warranted zombie movie set-designers' envy. The media did nothing to sensationalize; it truly was that destructive. Thousands were left without power for weeks and mobile stations were set up simply to charge phones and computers. My roommates and I took in eight of our friends because there was nowhere else to go. (And in New York City, an apartment does not suit eight comfortably.)
My penchant for being outside during a storm brought me to my patio, where the wind yelled and uprooted trees all around the block. The real madness and hysteria, though, would come the following day.
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