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It’s hard to be blasé; the sirens do bother me. Part of me, yes, will always be listening for them. And yet I can’t bring myself to do something as simple as wake up 15 minutes early to take the bus instead of the subway. I haven’t picked up the AA batteries for my Walkman radio. I had a flashlight, but I lost it. I have no contingency plans. I am not fighting. No doubt I’m hoping to brazen it out like I usually do.

And in imagination, a million refugees sneer at me in unison:

How fucking spoiled can you be?

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