72 Hour Hold [antikvár]

I Right before the devastation, I had a good day. God should have pulled my coattail then and there: "Enjoy this while you can, honey, because Satan beat me in a poker game last night, and he's claiming you and yours sometime soon." After all the praying and tithing I've done, I deserved a heads-up. Damn. Whatever happened to sending a sign? Lean cow, fat cow. Burning bush. Dove with an olive branch. Yoo-hoo! Something. It was probably better that the events evolved with no foreshadowing. Preparation wasn't possible. And what difference would it have made anyhow? Knowing that the hounds are tracking you doesn't mean you won't get caught; it means you have to get to the swamp fast. So there I was, clueless: lolling in the bed, stretching my legs and my toes—which needed a pedicure—ticking off a list of things to do in my head, I began to wake up. It was the second Saturday in April. Sunshine was making its way through a thick haze. Rising up, I stared out of my bedroom window, squinting a bit as I tried to discern the LA skyline, framed neatly between the two huge palm trees in my backyard. Thick pea soup almost obliterated the view, but I didn't look away until I sighted those buildings. Once I knew the city had survived the night, my