System breakdown revisited

You're in the middle of a 100 mile traffic jam. You're running out of gas. You're inching up the interstate in 101 degree heat. Across the median strip are two, three, four lanes completely empty. The police won't let you cross over. You know a lot of the panicky people in these clogged lanes have no business being there: they watch too much TV. You start counting the empty passenger seats inside each vehicle as you proceed at one mile per hour, sweat plummeting off your jowls. You wonder what will be left of the gulf coast refineries after all this, but you don't have to wonder about the price of gas next week, the lonestar mystery being how high the price might go. The radio news informs you that the levees haven't held in New Orleans again, and the waters keep rising. At the last station you pulled into, the shelves were empty. No more bread. No more ding dongs. No more chewing gum or pretzels -- they've tied mini bodybags to the pump handles. It's starting to make you wonder.