Later, driving, I see power lines by the highway strung up on a metal pole the shape of a Mickey Mouse head, piles of debris in front of Mediterranean-style mansions, trailer parks built on the shimmering coasts of man-made lakes. There's a soft rain coming down and it feels like the edge of the world, the end. I turn on my phone to the news from Puerto Rico: body bags and a president who is tossing paper towels into a crowd, bragging about numbers of people dead (they are lower than Katrina, he says, and the people of Puerto Rico should be proud). This piece of the grid that recently left millions in Florida without power for days looks tranquil through the humid air. I arrive in Orlando on a turbulent flight, descending toward a flat, green expanse, a horizon that's empty except for the twin towers of a power plant.
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