It’s funny. It all seemed so permanent. Driving through Metairie and Kenner, and friends and families neighborhoods that we use to frequent, I realize that we were living a chalkboard life. Then somebody came and wiped it all away. It’s strange being in a place I considered home for thirty-five years, and being a stranger. Everything feels different and alien, and somewhat surreal. I know that we are some of the fortunate ones, but that doesn’t make this less real. Now we drive around looking at what use to be, waiting till tomorrow, mostly anxious, to see what was.