Hurricane Sandy began to threaten New York 5 days before I was set to move to California. Along with the rest of New Yorkers who had to deal with the hype of Hurricane Irene just a year previous, I brushed this news right off and went back to making jokes and watching the only DVDs I hadn’t yet packed to be shipped off. The Golden Girls.
Luckily, my night is full of better stories than many other New Yorkers. I fell asleep with the heat on and the lull of Rose and Blanche conversing over a slice of cheesecake, on the TV.
The day after the hurricane, I woke up with the sun and walked outside to see the damage that had been done to my neighborhood. I’m fortunate enough to say that it wasn’t nearly as bad as most of the rest of the city got hit, but I put on my worn out Chucks and went out to take some photos, anyway.
It was cold and gloomy and wet and eerily abandon, on my walk to and from Riverside Park. By the time I got back to my apartment, my shoes were soaked in Hudson River water. Slippery from sliding over piles of dead worms and misplaced used feminine products that had washed ashore. It was so cold that I couldn’t feel my toes for over an hour after I had returned to my apartment.
I knew there was no amount of washing that would make my shoes sanitary ever again, and so I sent them off to a large farm with lots of other shoes for them to play with. I know their in a better place now. Especially after the last adventure I put them through in New York, as captured here:
Rest in peace, old friend.
Other photos that I took after the storm, can be seen here