Stupid fucking electricity. And the stupids of Norwalk, CT who can’t drive even when the stoplights are working. And then that stupid guy who dragged out his generator and deafened the neighborhood so he could keep ESPN2 up and running. When the time comes, you will be the first I hunt for food, I thought, siphoning gas out of the Le Sabre next door. Suddenly, I hear “Jingle Bells,” sounding like it’s coming from the kitchen. I look at Alex to see if she’s hearing it, too. We think the power’s come back on but it hasn’t. Just this mysterious olde-tyme recording of a Christmas carol, which seems to be mocking the wretched and worsening heat. I feel like I’m suddenly in Close Encounters or some Spielberg movie from that era and the camera is slowly zooming in on my confused and maybe-soon-to-be-horrified face as I try to make sense of it all. Turns out it was the stupid elderly neighbors cranking up the battery-powered radio to malfunctioning-hearing-aid level, wanting to get the news but being distracted for a moment by “Jingle Bells,” perhaps lost in a reverie of winter and snow and cold, even though those things seem like weird, ill-thought-out works of fantasy at this point, because we all know that the existence of Evil doesn’t necessarily prove the existence of Good.