In six days she will come over to the big empty house and we`ll watch the original The Crazies until we fall asleep.
Calls have reached my phone but I missed them all walking. She has called twice and I`ll miss a third call from her. I try calling back but it always fails and then finally it connects and tells me I have no credit. I walk on and reach familiar streets. It is seven and a half hours since the big quake. The main road under which passes the Metro is host of a throng of dark suits moving in one direction. Volunteers with loud speakers and hard hats shout directions to the nearby school opened up as a resting spot and I wonder if there`ll be free food in there. I cross over the road and into back streets. Fed-up or elated – I don`t know the reason – I run the last few streets to her building. The local park every night home to a gang of adolescents is empty.
At her room I open the door and she says my name but does not hold me. She has a visitor who at first is her ex but then changes into her brother. It is our first meeting. Her crappy old box in the corner on loop shows what looks like the end of days. She tells me she had found my sister`s entry for me on Google Person Finder and I enjoy the description of me.
We watch the TV for hours after her brother is gone. The chirpy quake warning preludes every new tremor. There are many. She says she won`t sleep tonight. After I put the TV sound off and hold her she sleeps soon and through every tremor until morning comes.
