“Okay, okay,” he laughed. “I give up… You win.” In the background, I could hear him shuffling papers about his desk. “So anyway, back to business. According to the departmental memo here, looks like the class is all set up for around ten. You need me to come get you?”

“No. Not at all.” I declined his offer. “I’ve got about two hundred pounds of sand bags in the bed of the truck, and it’s four-wheel drive.” With a chuckle, I added, “Question is, should I have given YOU a ride?”

“What, and leave the tank at home?” He asked facetiously, referring to the dilapidated looking, but well maintained, Chevy van he always drove. “Not a chance! Someone might think it’s abandoned and tow it! Besides…” He paused and I heard faint voices in the background. “Hey, Row…Could you hold on a sec?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

The sound from the handset cradled on my shoulder took on the familiar dull hollowness of being placed on hold. Absently, I filled my hand with an ink pen from the jar on the bookshelf and began doodling on the notepad next to it. Outside the window, a muted dawn was managing to filter weakly through the clouds that still lay like a comforter across the city. Wet clumps of snow continued chasing one another in a frantic, never-ending race downward to the already fleeced ground. My hand moved on its own, tracing non-sensical patterns on the notepaper. I ignored it and continued staring through the double pane of glass. Distorted noises of metal against asphalt distantly reached my ears, growing louder, then fading once again as a street department snow plow pushed past my house, spewing salt in its wake.