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That store would be ours.

Walk faster! Suddenly I have this feeling that the store has not been shut down. We’ve never actually talked about what to do in a public emergency. Would Kay be tempted to stay open and use this opportunity to make money? Of course she would, you moron! Hurry!

Minutes later I see our distinctive awning, and with a tremor I realize that the store is indeed open and utterly besieged. Thousands of people are trying to get through our door.

In their way stands Dwayne, who is partly succeeding at managing the flow, but this is a societal breakdown, and these are dehydrated people in the grip of mass hysteria, or worse, women who need to pee.

After fighting my way in, I see Gab and Kay behind the counter.

“What are you doing?” I yell above the roaring crowd.

They look at me as if this is the stupidest question they’ve ever heard. What would be the proper response? Serving a line that starts back in Manhattan? Making money faster than we’ve ever made it before? There is something that does sort of require explanation, however: Why are Kay and Gab both wearing money, as if it were some kind of fashion statement to cover yourself in damp bills?

“We can’t use the cash register,” Gab shouts, “so we have to store it on our bodies.” She points at herself: she has fives tucked into one rolled-up, sweat-soaked shirt sleeve and tens tucked into the other, and twenties under her collar. All smaller denominations she has in her hands or on the counter, although it’s clearly becoming impossible to count loose change as the store gets dark.

As if what’s going on outside the store—the crowds trying to get in, the growing mayhem—weren’t enough, this is a complication I hadn’t even considered, and yet another reason to close down immediately.

But Gab and Kay won’t have any of it. People aren’t just buying refreshments to cool off; they’re grabbing anything off the shelves they can get their hands on. Meanwhile, the temperature inside our refrigerators is rising (and every time somebody opens one of the doors, it rises even faster). By midnight the milk and orange juice will have spoiled, the ice cream will just be cream, and the cheese will be Cheez Whiz. In the morning the cold cuts will have to be tossed out—and basically that’s half the store right there. Who knows when we’ll get any of it back. Even if the blackout ends tonight, tomorrow is Friday and the deliverymen might not come for almost a week. Then we’ll lose the bread, fruits and vegetables; plus, each night that the city is without power is another night with a big LOOT ME sign spray-painted on the facade. At last I understand the situation. We could be facing losses that take us into going-out-of-business territory, so why not get rid of as much merchandise as possible? It would seem foolish not to.

If only the store weren’t so vulnerable and exposed. Money is everywhere and getting harder to keep track of. As I join Kay and Gab behind the counter, it occurs to me that we’re conducting an elaborate charade wherein we pretend that people actually have to pay us for the merchandise they take from our shelves, as if there would be consequences should they not. In truth, anybody can do anything they want to us right now: take our stuff, steal our money, burn us to the ground.

Just as I find myself wishing I hadn’t told Dwayne to leave his weapons at home, a police officer comes to the store, the first I’ve seen since this whole episode started. He approaches Dwayne and says, “It’s crazy out here. You got your piece?”

“ ‘Course!” says Dwayne exuberantly.

“Good,” says the cop. “You need any ammo?”

“Nah, I’m square,” Dwayne says. And the cop goes off, probably to hide in his car.

It’s finally getting dark outside now, and inside the store, where it’s been dark already for a while, we’re establishing a system that will allow us to remain open for a few more hours: holding candles or flashlights in one hand, we individually escort