The lights went yellow and flickered. Then they went out for the next
day-and-a-half. From 4:11 p.m. on Thursday until 9:09 p.m. on Friday night,
The Black Table had no power and could not publish. (We'll be back Monday
with Aileen Gallagher's Weekly
Rundown and Will Leitch's Life
as a Loser -- Amy Blair's Week
in Craig will run on Tuesday.) Instead, we ate potato chips, drank
three bottles of red wine, finished off the rum, made lots of mac and
cheese and sweated in the billion-degree heat. We also took some pictures
for the scrap book.
The Blackout came and the entire world headed south down the Bowery, towards
the bridges and tunnels that would take them home. Pedestrians crowded
the street, some scared, pushing themselves home on shoes ill-suited for
a trek home. It was hot. It was very hot.
Without power, the street lights didn't work and cars jammed together
to get home. People racked up huge fares in cabs, mired in traffic that
wouldn't move for hours. Cars overheated and ran out of gas, making matters
worse. And then night fell.
And the entire world as we knew it, had fundamentally changed. There was
no power anywhere. In the dark, everyone sweated together peacefully and
waited for the lights to come back on. It was an awesome and humbling
thing to hear the audible hum of New York City silenced.
And then the power came back ... Almost. Inwood had power. Queens had
power. Times Square got power. Then the Empire State Building. All the
way until 80% of the city had power, but not the Bowery. Not the Black
Table. The Empire State Building mocked us. The Chrysler building gleamed
like a beacon from the future. And then, when the power finally flicked
on, the Bowery screamed "Hooray," and a billion radios hailed
the brightened dusk.