Saturday afternoons were the times he waited for the most and cantankerous was his attitude before and after these times. All his favorite sports aired Saturday afternoons, on network TV; the ones that were not worthy of a school night. This particular Saturday, however, he could not watch TV, because Hurricane Ernesto made it impossible. You see, Ernesto had shown up in Brooklyn, and made the conducting of electricity rather impossible for the residents of Bay Ridge, and this, proved to be quite upsetting for this fan of professional golf. Reluctantly he agreed to step out into the storm at the insistence of his wife, who threatened to leave him if he did not go out and buy batteries for the flashlight.
As he put on his rubbers, he whinced at the fact that he was living in a world where rubbers could no longer be mentioned without the snickers and grins of young people he set out to the bodega at the corner to buy the four D batteries that his marriage depended on.
Walking out of the bodega, on the way back to his apartment, he caught a glimpse through a crack between the buildings that the straight-paved roads the the boroughs seldom provided, of a magnificent wave hurling over the cars driving East and West on the Belt Parkway. He had never seen anything like it before, and that was most probably due to the fact that when storms hit, he was inside watching his precious Television, while nature stated her authority outside his building. So naturally, he had to get a closer look, and when he emerged from within the caves of apartment buildings and retail stores, he found a stretch of concrete boardwalk on the other side of the Parkway, lined by a metal fence, overlooking the Atlantic Ocean, spotted by passers-by stood, and waited to be covered by the enormous waves that were crashing upon the the highway.