"Last night a neighborhood exploded. ... Just like that. It was there one minute, gone the next, apparently the victim of a deteriorating 62-year old cylinder in the ground that wore out, blew out, and exploded after rupturing the ground above it. That cylinder is just one of many old, deteriorating lines. ... I wonder whether conservatives give a damn when an entire neighborhood spontaneously combusts. I wonder whether they have a fixed number of dead people in their minds before they actually treat our infrastructure problems in this country like something worth their attention."—Karoli, on the explosion in San Bruno last night, which sent up "a geyser of fire that killed at least one person and injured more than 20 others, and ignit[ed] a blaze that destroyed 53 homes and damaged 120 more."
This morning, when I was out walking the dog, I smelled gas about half a block away from my house. It was the third time I'd smelled gas in the same area. When I got home, I called the gas company and reported it.
They came out to fix it not long after I called. The air was filled with gas. Though the other three didn't seem bothered, Sophie was running around mewing pitifully and trying to hide inside a closet, presumably to get away from the smell of the gas.
Not long ago, they left. I don't know what they did. Put a patch on it, I guess. It's vaguely terrifying.
Sophie still hasn't come out from behind the couch.
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