My friends and I spent the entire day yesterday driving around looking for hurricane supplies as my father put up shutters. Traffic was awful, and the lines to get gas were more than fifty cars deep. Publix, our chain of grocery stores, looked as if it had been plundered by looters. People scrambled through the aisles with carts loaded with water, canned foods, and batteries, including the five of us, who split up to get any foods that weren't already gone. The water shelves were completely empty. We were able to pick up a couple of gallons of gatorade and juices, along with some cans. Ravioli, spaghetti, things like that. The lines were so long they wrapped around the store, and everywhere were people asking if there was any bread, any flashlights, anything.

We still weren't able to find half the things on our list, especially the bread, whose aisle in Publix had been as empty as the water. The roads were clogged with angry, impatient drivers, running stopsigns and traffic lights. Everyone was out of school, out of work, and there began the stirrings of panic. We drove then to a Target so far west that beyond it began the Everglades, hoping to find supplies there. There wasn't any water but there was an abundance of batteries, which we bought quickly. The wind was blowing in little gusts now, bending the palm leaves back like threads of green ribbon. The sky was alarmingly golden and blue, and we went farther to a Walmart. Bread had just arrived off the trucks. We grabbed two loafs and five minutes later they were gone. Hoping to find any water that was left, we parked near a Walgreens. They had some water bottles, but that was it.

Three-quaters of the gas stations now were either closed or out of gas as I went out at about 4:00 to fill our tank. At around 6:00 the roads were empty and barren, an eerie sight for Miami, except for the remaining gas lines, which took up an entire lane for yards back. Everywhere was the sound of hammers and clinking metal as people boarded up their homes or installed hurricane shutters. On the corner of the street a giant truck was stacked with plywood. Home Depot had run out of wood at around 8:00 that morning, and the man was selling it at twice its value. About ten cars were already lined up, stacking the wood in their trunk or the back of their pickups. All the stores were now closed, except for the few still selling groceries. The sunset was beautiful as the clouds purpled and glowed crimson and gold, silhoetted against the fading sun. The air was still now.

This morning the hurricane had hardly moved but had dropped to a category three which, as it stagnated in the Atlantic over the bahamas, did not garuntee that it wouldn't pick up to a four again. It was still projected to hit Palm Beach, though the forecasters couldnt rule out a hit to south Broward or North Dade, which would put us on the left side of the eyewall. I drove to a local Publix to pick up some food for lunch and dinner, and to try again for gas. The station was still closed and Publix was packed, but not nearly so much as yesterday as it was only 10:00 in the morning. Our house it dark as all the windows are covered. Hammering is heard from outside. Something is coming, and being lost in this twilight of wating is worse than any storm will be.