Every night the world ends, and every morning it begins anew. Or so the ancient Maya believed.
On Monday night, Oct. 29, when the sun went down, the world inside my apartment in Manhattan's East Village still consisted of the comforts of electricity and momentary concerns: How bad would Hurricane Sandy be? Had I bought enough food? And why did "Breaking Bad" on Netflix keep pausing to buffer?
Then, without warning, the lights went out. Blackness. I made my way about that night with flashlights and candles and awoke to a new day without power or cellphone reception. I walked to work in the Flatiron District to find out that it too was without power. I called my mom, my first contact with the outside world, who told me the extent of the blackout, and how bad the coastal areas had been hit. Indeed, the world, at least in the tri-state area, would never be quite the same.
Doomsday flight cancelled
Then came the voicemail (which I accessed north of 20th street, where I still got service) telling me my US Airways flight had been cancelled. This struck me as ironic: The flight was to take me to West Virginia to meet and interview people featured on "Doomsday Preppers," and learn how to survive an apocalyptic scenario.
Luckily, I was able to find another journalist with whom to carpool down to West Virginia, passing miles of blacked-out buildings, downed trees and hours-long lines for gas, on our way out of the city.
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