A man lives in a New York City of the near-future with his son and his wife. The city has been ravaged by hurricanes: there’s no longer a pause between them, nor do they only occur during a single season. Fish and manatees have been heaved from the ocean; their carcasses lie on New York City streets. The man wanders through the city. He visits his art studio and bemoans to his friend Wilt how his work is never shown. Wilt is surprised that the man would even care: art is so far from people’s minds now. The man fights with the super at his building, who demands that he pay for back maintenance at a time when money has become useless. Some young Asian kids rob the man, stealing not his money but one of his paintings, for the singular snide reason that he cares so much about it. At an outdoor dinner with his family, the man hears a kid returning. Thinking that it is the young kid that stole from him, the man beats the kid up. His friends wail that the kid’s been killed. It wasn’t the same boy at all. The man’s family abandons him. He’s left, sitting in his art studio, watching the water rise.