Reprinted with permission from ProPublica
Two weeks ago, after freak lightning strikes torched Northern California but before the inferno of Labor Day weekend had begun, a friend called to talk, like you do when the world is turning to crap and nothing is stable or makes sense. In the past six months she'd fled New York for rural West Marin (due to the pandemic), and West Marin for San Francisco (due to smoke). Now she was planning to leave San Francisco for Los Angeles, as the gross air had descended here. We joked, as I'd joked with every friend this summer, that we should all just drop out and start a commune on a lake in Maine. “Every commune needs lesbians!" she said. “I'll be our lesbian! California is going to become unlivable!"