"Any advice?"

  The man lept onto a boulder, peered through nocs at a now-calm ocean.  "Try not to hobknob with the hoightytoits." 

  "Who are they?" 

  "Well, most of them, the "hurricane party" crowd, they don't know yet, the effects of the storm and all." 

  Two square miles had quickly become "the camp".  People had unknowingly, mostly, re-erected their neighborhoods only without walls, without streets. 

  One woman had thrown soaking wet clothing items at spots from the fringe to the water truck and would touch these with barefeet en route to and from "the chore".  "Blind as a bat," a man in waders told.  "Least that's my guess." 

  "Any family nearby?" We asked the questions on the form.  And got a multitude of answers that were in no way verifiable.  "Well, there's Aunt Milly but she don't talk to me anymore." 

  "What'dya do?" 

  "She's dead.  Been buried now 'bout seven summers.  If the cemetery didn't wash away." 

  "Where is it?" 

  "Just south a the store."