We work all night. We dig ditches and tunnels, pitch tents, put up lean-tos and shanties, stretch out tarps… Anything to protect ourselves. There is some scuffling over what exactly is the best approach. But there isn’t time enough to come up with a perfect plan. Just a good one. And we barely make it in time. The rain comes. The warm, sticky, creamy rain of alfredo sauce. And strands of pasta. And strips of chicken.