The old blue storm-sign Gets spray-painted over in red: Get lost Irene Sandy. I have never liked to travel, having a dislike of the confusion of new scenes, but I find myself hamstrung at home as well with a deep sense of offended opprobrium at the repetitiousness of the local rituals of the Jersey Shore-beginning with Bar A and ending with the not-quite-naked strip joints like Untouchables that used to line Highway 35 up toward South Amboy. Too lazy to travel, I wait for the busy weather To come knocking.