When the Signal Dies, Love Is Logistics—and Every Choice Has a Cost

the flimsy polyester kind, but dense, scratchy military surplus. A bag of chemical hand warmers. A kinetic flashlight. Three liters of water. And a jar of high-calorie peanut butter.

I went to work. I didn’t turn the car back on. I knew we might be here for twelve hours, maybe twenty. Idling meant death by carbon monoxide or an empty tank.

I reclined continue reading …