It’s a hundred-degree day in the middle of a scorching Florida summer.
I’m sitting in a comfy armchair, right smack in the middle of a beautifully decorated, air-conditioned apartment clubhouse where the residents congregate to play pool and watch football. I’m checking Facebook and texting my friends to make plans for the evening, and every few seconds, my eyes flick to the big clock on the wall in front of me.
It’s been three hours, I think to myself. Hope they’re okay out there.