“There’s a hurricane coming,” she said, giving me a dirty look.

“Yeah, and?”

“And you should probably go outside and move all of that crap you left out in the yard into the shed. Unless you want it flying away, that is.”

I mumbled under my breath and tore through the kitchen junk drawer until I found one of our old flashlights towards the back, under a pile of yellowed paper and rusted surplus screws. I shook it and slapped it around until it came on, but the light was dim and it was obvious there wasn’t much time left in the old battery before it died on me completely. I couldn’t find any decent-looking Duracells in the drawer, so I let it go, hustling out the door before the storm carried away the lawn furniture and errant planters I’d neglected to fill with dirt this season.

I made it back in right before the sky went dark, just as the first fat drops were flung about. I felt one hit me as the door swung closed.

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