Normalcy

The strange thing about living in a ruined city is that it quickly becomes normal. Humvees, armed men in camouflage, and military helicopters no longer draw stares and discussion because they look in place. The concepts of FEMA and "heads up their asses" have become synonymous to all. "How'd you make out" now means, did you lose everything in the world you had and/or any relatives? Nowadays that question is either met with a guilty "Oh I did fine; part of my roof blew off and I still don't have electricity but no big deal," or "well, I lived in [insert name of neighborhood or parish that no longer exists]." And, honest to God, a sympathetic "oh" and a small sorry takes care of your end of that conversation most times and you move on becaues it's old hat.

The city has become so normal in some ways that going out to eat is a regular option. It has become habit to call first to see if that restaurant is open, and to plan to wait a couple hours for a table, and to order from hastily-printed paper menus with limited options and jacked-up prices from waiters living in trailers in the parking lot.