Let me paint the picture. It’s 10pm and pitch black outside. I’m sitting on the front porch of my home with a flashlight, phone and iced tea waiting for the gas company.
It’s strangely peaceful with my wireless headphone piping meditation music into one ear and crickets chirping in the other.
The back porch of my home is the laundry room and it contains an ancient gas heater. Today, after moving it to wash the wall behind, I began to smell gas.
The door to the house is shut and has a towel at the bottom but here I am, outside, waiting for someone to arrive and turn off the gas line.
To the south the moon is rising and there are no cars passing by, just the distant sound of dogs barking. I happen to be wearing a gray sweater and black tights so I feel like a ninja hiding in the darkness.
Don’t turn on any lights.
Don’t start any appliances.
Do not, under any circumstances, light a candle.
Blocks away the church bells ring 10 times.
I’m going to read the latest on my Kindle app until the technician arrives. When pressed the gas company operator said “soon” so I’m guessing sometime between now and Monday.