At the corner of San Andres and Micheltorena streets on the city’s Westside, a lone street preacher holds forth as wisps of ash dance from his ankles to his knees. A few phantom cars whoosh by. The air is choked with the incinerated remains of nearly 1,000 burned-down homes and who-knows-how-many millions of plants and animals. The preacher’s voice — magnified by a portable PA system — cracks with amplified distortion. No one stops to listen. A young man carrying a plastic bag of tangerines — his face obliterated by a blue respirator mask — appears on a skateboard, gliding silently past. He doesn’t slow down. It’s the same old sermon, after all: fire and brimstone.
But on this muffled morning, it also happens to be the weather report.
Welcome to the Thomas Fire.