Last Friday, I dropped by the HEB after lunch to pick up a few supplies for the weekend. San Antonio was on the outer edges of Hurricane Harvey's path, and weather reports warned that we might get up to 15 inches of rain with high winds and flooding.
HEB was clotted with people. The water aisle was empty except for a case of Topo Chico (not the best advertisement), and the toilet paper aisle was the second most plundered. There was a sense of nervous excitement as people filled their carts with what remained...
On Tuesday night, Adrian and I ate dinner in front of the television as we watched the votes roll in. It felt festive at first, as if we were watching an anticipated sports game. Then the hours passed, the night stretched on, and around eleven, Adrian looked up from his phone and said, disbelieving, "I think he's going to win this!"
I shook my head. "No. No way. It's not going to happen. It can't." But I had a heavy, sick feeling in my stomach and got up to pour another glass of wine.
Last night, Adrian and I went to see Dave Chappelle at the Aztec Theater here in San Antonio. It was a 10 p.m. show, and the air was still hot and thick with humidity as we walked the few downtown blocks to the theater. The San Fernando Cathedral was lit up, 1700s stone and arches shining gold, and a few notes of live music, their source invisible, overcame the shrill drone of roadwork on Commerce.
A line snaked around the building, in front of a corner store with printouts of known shoplifters tape...
Yesterday morning, early, before the August heat raked over Laredo, three women around my age went for a run. Before they could return home, a truck hopped the curb onto the sidewalk and barreled into them. One of the women died there, where just moments before she had been talking or laughing or focusing on the forward motion of her feet; another died shortly after at a local hospital; and the third is still in critical condition here in San Antonio. The driver, a 22-year-old university student, was unhurt.