A Morning at 102.0

When he reached the sidewalk, the hallway behind him already smelled faintly of scorched plastic, not the heavy smell of an electrical fire but the sweet chemical scent of something deforming under heat. The wind hitting his face outside was hot enough to make him squint. Leaves on the trees across the street had begun to curl at the edges. The whole block looked like it was slowly dehydrating in real time. He crossed toward the supermarket to buy milk and water. That was when the first siren sounded in the distance. Then a second. Then a third. The city seemed to realize, too late, that something was wrong, and began to breathe in short, jagged gasps through the hot air. And the email had been right. Rolling blackouts were coming tonight.