How Far Would You Walk for a Hot Meal?

My first post-Sandy post. 

I'm very tired.

Our path to civilization

I kept a journal every day.

A flashlight was a necessity.  I didn't leave the apt without it.

What I'll remember is the cold.  Cold apartment, cold water, cold electric stove.

Warm refrigerator.

How far would you walk for a hot meal?  Yesterday, I walked about a mile-and-a-half over a bridge into Brooklyn, bringing my daughter with me.  We brought our dead phones and chargers with us.  I couldn't find my other daughter until I charged my phone. 

Communication in our neighborhood was reduced to notes taped up on doors, dropping by apartment buildings and yelling up at windows, hoping to catch someone home.

In the Brooklyn restaurant we eventually ended up at, my kid asked if she could order steak and eggs.  "Of course!" I said.  And then I jubilantly ordered hot tea AND hot coffee and a kale Ceasar salad with homemade croutans, an egg sandwich with homefries.  We gave our phones and charger to our very sweet waiter who ran out and bought a power strip.

Every day without power I thought about food.  How I could get it and where.  How I would bring it back before sundown, before my neighborhood would go epically, Biblically dark. 

Tight place update:

To add insult to injury, someone got a hold of our banking info and swiped some money from our account last night.  Sigh.