Holy Richter scale. It’s time to head for the high ground.
Somewhere between Neverbeenistan and Moscow, at the sweeping steppe of the Caucasus Mountains, the Earth punched a hole through its face. It’s a massive temblor, boys—at least 8.8. And the implications are far-reaching.
Watch out, Hawaii, Tokyo, and Bellingham. Here I am, more than five thousand miles away, up against the water. Our modest seaside town is known for a college, a bank or two, craft beer, and genial indifference. A tsunami is barreling in from the west.
This could be it. Sirens are blaring. Warning! Warning! Killer waves are descending.
I go to the beach to test my mettle. I see joggers, dogs, boats galore, kayakers, and paddleboarders. A fat kid on a surfboard. Some guy crabbing off the jetty. I may know him.
I roll up my pant legs and step into impending doom. And wait.
I drove home later with wet feet and genial indifference.