The Vagabond RN, Entry 3: Hurricane Dorian Lockdown

Much less traffic on the road this morning. Definitely not the typical work crowd scurrying to work. More boarded up buildings. All the commercial beach stores, or Glass House Mavericks as I like to affectionally refer to them, are still waving their Open For Business banners like drunken soccer hooligans crack-mooning the riot police.

Staying strict commando paid off. I crammed all of my shit into the rental car this morning before leaving the hotel. Good thing too, because we went into lockdown mode today at the hospital, and during my lunch break, I damn near broke my crazy neck dragging my hair products and guitar amp and Yeti cooler and backup generator and AK-47 and smoke grenades and and Selena Gomez pillow and George Foreman grill through the rain and up the stairs.

I slid out later this evening, took a ride into the evacuation zone and had a walk along the beach. There was a curious side wind present in sporadic gusts. The waves didn’t move in their usual tranquil, percussive way. They were different, moving in diagonally, swelling, churning, as if ominously announcing what’s coming. The sky was dismally grey as far as my eyes could see. It was slightly unnerving. I momentarily had a vision of the magnitude of this behemoth force of nature. Suddenly I felt tiny, minuscule.

I made a swing by the China Dragon. They’re a few of my heroes this week, braving the storm so I can have my fill of chicken wings and fried rice. Then I returned to the hospital to buckle down in my killer foldout cot from 1965. Damn, but I love some adventure.

Interesting Observation

It is eerily quiet. You don’t realize just how many components make up the downtown ambient noise until it’s completely gone. The usual chatter of people, the cars passing, the pop tunes blasting from multiple bars, the elevator music distantly floating from nearby hotels, the occasional drunken yell across the street, all gone. Literally the only sound I could discern was the wind through the palms.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s