An excellent story by an excellent writer--she goes on (but read all):
Every other house is either empty or boarded up, and ongoing reconstruction seems either non-existent or delayed. Potholes and uneven surfaces threaten to peel off her car’s exhaust system. A few residents are valiantly planting spring flowers in muddy yards, and the riot of color draws the eyes away from the wrecked buildings. Every block or so, there are one or two homes that are miraculously restored, or appear to have escaped the wrath of Poseidon.


This street is one of those that had boats going door to door in the aftermath of Katrina’s flood, and the flat the writer is renting has no furniture because the owner lost almost everything to the filthy water. The furniture that is left has been destroyed by a contractor who neglected to cover it while he was working. The writer feels narcissistic, wanting to complain about having nothing except a musty mattress on the floor. There are tens of thousands here