I hire two Mexicans to board up the bungalow’s windows with plywood. Supervising their work for the day, I study the waves as they ebb up to the shore, rising by the minute. The waves are blue-gray and angry looking, indicating a future tempest of destruction. Never have I experienced a hurricane before; not that I have ever wanted to, either. New York City does get its frequent snowstorms during the winter months, which a high percentage of residents survive. And the rainstorms in the city are actually more beautiful than dangerous. Many city people get caught in the rain, but few die, if any. The oncoming storm here seems perilous, without beauty, and quite sinister. The meteorologists are not suggesting to evacuate Barefoot Beach as of yet, but they do forewarn to stock up on provisions, board all windows, and have a supply of water for a week, and I heed their advice.