Last night I dreamt of driving toward lower Manhattan when suddenly the streets were flowing like those in Venice. Suddenly, and seemingly without warning, the water was up to my shoulders and everything in the car was under it. Sitting at a basketball court drying off in the sun, I wasn’t feeling any particular loss over the car, but was seriously bummed out about my laptop and camera, which was spewing water out of every opening like in the Three Stooges short when the boys pose as plumbers at a fancy home where mayhem rightly ensues. When someone asks the black cook for a glass of water, his classic response is, “Water? Turn on anything; you’ll get it!”