So the storm becomes a hurricane of epic proportions, and New York City is stuck in a typhoon that lasts two whole days. I’m stuck in some lifeless, airless apartment on my own with Mico on phone duties should I need anything, and yet it’s not like I care. I’m sick, my glands swollen, and my body aching with a fever. I toss and turn in bed and can’t seem to do anything but drift in and out of shallow sleep for small bursts. I don’t know if it’s emotional and I’m run down or if ...