And you get home....

And you get home on a late July evening, after a long day at work— of heat, attic insulation and sweat and you discover the power on your street is down. Somewhere a transformer caught fire. Now you have no TV, or computer, bathroom light but it’s okay: you have candles, a cigarette, a glass of rum and a battery powered radio which you turn on and discover that the Red Sox beat Montreal 6-5 in a crazy game they seemed destined to lose; the Yankees are tied up, 3 to 3, in the 13^th inning at Philadelphia. As you sit on the balcony, flashlight dots appear in the street jerking and dancing and children are giggling and yelling to their friends, voices echo off brick walls and it’s a good carnival like atmosphere…. And you find out the Yankees scored, 6-3 now and will probably keep their half game lead over Red Sox and I remain sitting, in the dark, no clocks, coffee pot light or refrigerator… long pockets of quiet erupt across the condo grass and no ticking and no tocking and you wait and drink your fourth rum and coke…. the children inside now and only a couple of people remain on their balconies, their orange cigarette tips glowing. And then, CLICK. Lights and TV and computer and air conditioner buzz to life again, sending the quiet off packing into the distance and into the raw buggy woods.