To pay our respects, Malcolm and I got in the car last Sunday and drove for 2-1/2 hours through Gentilly, New Orleans East, The Lower 9th Ward, the 8th Ward, Chalmette, Violet, Meraux; we tried to go down to Pointe A La Hache but the road was closed, and then we headed back through Bywater, Faubourg Marigny, (both of which did okay), never once repeating a neighborhood. All you see are blocks and blocks of ruined homes and businesses. Neighborhoods, brown and frozen. Emptied streets. No traffic, no noises, no electricity, (one red light working at Judge Perez and Franklin), no birds. Not one family or business was spared. Every building, tree trunk, stop sign, is tattooed with a water line. Some are three feet high, some are ten. If you need gas, a Coke, or to pee, you're out of luck.

Andrew's learning to drive, and later that afternoon, he shadowed M and me in the old black Suburban while we walked the breach at the 17th Street Canal. The destruction here is more like mutilation. Pristine, empty slabs because their houses floated two doors down; exposed closets with clothes still hanging on the rod; half of a house sagging; cars tilted against trees, and everything Katrina brown. The rebuild will be endless, if it ever starts. The lawsuits, a mountain range. Everyone's swapping storm stories and it feels like Can You Top This? We can't. Our home had roof damage, and some water in the basement. We lost our business, but many of our friends lost their houses and their jobs. "Pure luck," we say. "We live on a narrow finger of high land. Half-a-block behind us they flooded." Like being close to high water gives us something in common.

Restaurants that're open, and dentists & doctors, and gutting/sheetrock/demolition freelancers have covered the neutral ground with yard signs. One that made me ache: Gentle Interior Removal - 504-483-7181.