Just back from Atlantic City

I go as a buffet-eater, not a gambler. Driving home there were warnings of a tempest. The wind rattled our car and the ocean lashed against the highway's railing. The sky was Gothic. A white car had somehow skidded off the road and ended up in the marsh. With the passenger door open, the half-drowned car looked like a bird with a broken wing, trying to take off.