9: Torpor

It came from up North, moved slower than the sun, and hung like a canopy over supermarkets, schools, churches and billboards. Descending on tiny Gahanna, Ohio, it engulfed housing developments named for things torn down: Old Orchard or Emerald Hills. At Easton Town Centre, shoppers outside Pottery Barn leaned against the storefront and sighed until their breath misted circles on the glass. Even the fountain wilted to a trickle. When it reached Commerce Parkway and slid through the shimmering windows of my office building, Cindy dropped her phone mid-sentence. Mark lolled in his chair. And I couldn’t tell you where I was.