Hurricane Gloria came roaring across lower Fairfield County in the wee hours of 9.28.85, and I was there, man, standing in my parents’ front yard in Wilton, Connecticut, sometime around 1:30 or 2 am. That howling sound, 90 mph winds, huge trees bending. The full force of it ebbed after ten minutes or so, but I’ve never forgotten that feeling, that energy. Not to sound like an asshole, but if I was on the Atlantic coast of Florida right now I would be doing two things: (1) huddling inside a safe underground or brick-fortified shelter of some kind, but also (b) looking to safely absorb what I could of Hurricane Matthew’s raw ferocity, you bet. Give it to me! Incidentally: If I was determined to run for it, I definitely wouldn’t hit the highway in the daylight hours like all those tens of thousands of schmucks were doing yesterday — I’d make a point of leaving at 2 or 3 am.