Driving down the street of the flood damaged city, I had no idea what to expect. Every time I tried to picture what my apartment could look like, I just drew a blank. I didn't even have words. Would there be drywall peeling off the walls like when the basement flooded when I was a kid? Or would it be pristine clean, a thin shell of normalcy protecting teaming masses of mutated mold waiting for me to blink at the right moment. Would I even be allowed into the building? Would my apartment be trashed, or looted, or just infected with a fridge that didn't have power for five days now. I suspect the tub of butter is probably spoiled and I have cheese in my fat free milk container.

I feel like... I'm nervous.

Traffic is heavy but moving. People thankful to have another way across town and pretending not to be staring at the semi rig embedded in the side of the church or the man cleaning the Dairy Queen sign fifteen feet above the street. Doesn't matter if the water didn't get that high, there is just this hint that I could be driving entirely underwater just two days ago.

There is a pulse to this city. The lights are out and everything is a stop sign. One car, inch forward, one car. An Iowa National Guard watched over the roads with casual boredom, but there is no mistaking the gun on his holster or the armored vehicle behind him. It only takes one idiot to run the pulse of movement. But, I keep my eyes forward to avoid any accidents and try to not gawk at the ten meter long pile of garbage outside the Mexican restaurant.

At my apartment, I headed down the alley, as I always did. But, there was enough garbage blocking it I had to back up into traffic, drive around for another five minutes and try again. This time, I went the proper way, around the block and into the parking lot. Stopped again, this time by a dozen trucks and tractors, lining the roads and filling the parking lot. They are emptying out the bank next door, box after box of ruined records. My in-laws tell me it is the main bank for the area; I think its shame how much was lost by the unexpected waters.

Another few minutes and I find a gap between a pumping truck and some worker's massive pickup truck that probably sucks gasoline from the very air if it could. My tiny SUV, the smallest I could find earlier this year, looked tiny compared to it, but I managed to get it in. I didn't pay the meter, none of the workers were and they wouldn't know. It looked just like the others, cars and trucks of an age that seems to be passing with high gas prices and the hopeful return of public transportation.

I got out, shielding my eyes from the bright, cheerful sun. It was hot and humid, the ground radiating wetness. From the back, I grabbed my day pack. A square duffel bag and headed through the parking lot. It was filled with workers and haulers, men in hard hats and baseball caps. The little store owners and the people paid by the bank. Everyone was working in this part of town, not a single gawker, not even a police officer. Everyone.

Except me.

I feel like... a spy here. A stranger among the workers.

It doesn't take much to hold the bag like I used to as a kid, when I pretended I had some bomb or delicate device in it. To walk while keeping it as still as possible. I was harmless here, a fat white man heading into his apartment, but you could almost imagine being someone different at that point. Something more than a thirty-something checking out his apartment for the first time in a week.

Inside, it is hot and humid. The offices are empty and abandoned and you can feel the moisture in the air. The sounds are gone, just the hollow dripping somewhere in the distance and the soft scuffing of someone dragging a filing cabinet that has paper half poured out of the bottom. Melted paper.

I'm curious but don't have much time. So, I head toward the stairs.

And stop.

It was dark and almost menacing, just this inky blackness leading to the stairs. I could see water rippling on the bottom, but there is simply no light. Like a mouth to oblivion. I have a flashlight, I knew it was dark. Fumbling with it, from my square pack, I realized this was my delicate device that couldn't move much and turned it on. A tiny yellow glow of light.

Didn't help the slightest bit.

I feel like... I'm in a horror movie.

Coming in, I felt the water clinging to my shoes as I headed toward the stairs. The light is almost dead, but steady. It wasn't very bright and it was almost terrifying to realize that I could not see anything unless the light was directly flashed on it. It wasn't like the movie where there is a blue cast to give the viewer an idea of what they was lurking. No, it was just a single handspan wide puddle of light.

And I started to climb.

On the fifth floor, I felt and saw something looming to my left. I jumped. I didn't mean to, but that suddenly bright white water pipe startled the hell out of me, with my tiny pool of light. I could easily imagine what it felt like, your heart pounding in rhythm with your steps, only being able to see. Just one corner and there could be someone, something waiting for you. And you wouldn't even know it. Like the spy before this, I could easily imagine what it would be like to be in those movies.

I am in much better shape. I don't get winded until the fourteenth floor. Not enough to stop, but just enough to slow me down. I can hear anything but my heartbeat and my gasping for breath. It doesn't even echo around me, just tons of concrete and this strange feeling of someone following me.

Then the light went out.

Not... the best feeling in the world, being completely and utterly plunged into darkness. Not something to calm the breath and slow the heart. Now, it was that brief moment of wondering if I would be that first person who dies in the movie, the lone person they won't find until 35 minutes into the story.

Then I turn the flashlight back on where I accidentally hit the switch. I don't really feel foolish, mainly because I was curious about what it would be like. I do feel like I want to get out of the slightly claustrophobic stairwell with no lights or windows, and the very faint sound of wind howling above me. Darkness is good for that, you start to listen.

On my floor, well above fourteen, I staggered through the dual fire doors and into the hallway. It is dark, but every door is light on the bottom, a crack of sunlight pouring in through the bottoms. It was spectral and beautiful in some ways, a mundane little piece of the world, temporarily forgotten by the powers of electricity. The smells of curry (my neighbor) and sage (my apartment).

At the door, I actually was thankful that I can identify my keys by touch. Its dark and I don't want to fumble with it. Picking out the right one (it has a tip you can feel in your pocket), I unlocked my door and prepared for the worse.

I feel like... my heart is pausing.

I didn't get worse, I got a single flash of brilliant compassion by someone I didn't know.

Someone had come in when I was gone and cleaned out my refrigerator. Just a faint smell of rotting food, a box of Diet Coke (oh, had to grab one of those), and a bottle of mayo. Everything else was removed by some kind soul. The things I expected the worse... nothing. Except for the gaping door on the fridge, one picture fell down from the vibrations that must have slammed into the building.

I feel like... taking a deep breath.

I only had three things I wanted: my laptop, more clothes, and to unplug things in case there is a power surge. Twenty minutes later, and a warm Diet Coke, I had no reason to be there. Not until there is power. Turning off the AC, just in case, I locked my door and headed down.

It isn't a horror movie this time. It isn't a story of a spy. Instead, its the end of my own personal little movie, that breath of fresh air as people stand at the edge of destruction and breath a sigh of relief. I guess, it was the end of my disaster movie.

Outside, I gave that flashlight to someone else who needed it and headed back to work, my lunch break and my movie both over.

I feel like...

Hard to explain. I feel relief. I feel happiness. I feel joy. I feel sadness for the people who are still living their horror, spy, and disaster movies. I feel anger for those who are taking advantage of them. I feel good for helping others. But, it is still a storm inside me. And...

I feel like... crying in laughter, joy, sorrow, and anger.

All at once.