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I wake up alone around ten oclock that Sunday morning and go in search of my husband. I find him outside talking to a man who lives on the ground floor, two doors down from us. He and his wife are packing up the last of their belongings and collecting their dogs before pulling out.

Instead of interrupting their conversation, I listen in.

"Yeah, everything you see here," says my neighbor, pointing to the parking lot and the highway in front of it, "is going to be under 12 feet of water come Monday. I was here in Slidell for Camille, but I lived over there on Old Spanish Trail back then. The storm surge never did get us, but it did get this far, all the way into this building."

My eyes widen, but I still cannot comprehend what he is really saying. "Honey, can I have a beer?" I ask my husband. "I need a little something to calm my nerves now."

"Little girl," says my neighbor, "youre gonna need more than just a beer if you guys are staying. Come on in and Ill give something a little stronger."

I follow him into his apartment. He and his wife are a little strange, as is everybody here where I live. Ive come to think of this side of the canal as Rejects Row. On the other side of the canal, in Eden Isles, there are million dollar homes and average families. On this side, my side of the canal, there is one cheap apartment building after another, filled with people who have made one bad mistake or another. Whatever my neighbors had done to be sentenced to time here, we all shared the same fate and we all understood each other. Strange was nothing, really.

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Written by: spun2sugar
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