One winter there was an ice storm. I went to work that day because, unlike the rest of my fellow metropolitans, I don’t watch the news. My friend Allison also showed up to work along with a handful of other people in a company of 100+ employees. After we discovered that we weren’t supposed to be there, Allison and me decided to go out and see if we could find an open coffee shop before heading back to our respective homes. The snow and ice was coming down so thick that the visibility was about 20 feet. The sidewalks were covered with ice. There was a mixed panic in navigating the sidewalks… trying to move fast enough to make it to our destination without getting soaked all the way through my less than adequate winter “coat” while at the same time, trying not to slip and thoroughly break our asses on the ice. In the scramble to the Starbucks, we rounded the corner and a very large very heavy huge-ass chunk of ice about the size of a garbage can crashed onto the sidewalk about 5 ft away from us. I looked up at the building and saw that it had probably fallen from the 12th floor rooftop. At that point I realized 2 things:
1. We should probably not be out in the streets right now.
2. I am so happy that I am alive.