Hot Times in Magma City, 1990-95
Page 48
He goes upstairs—his little room, all his own. Reads for a while, thinks about his day, gets into bed. Sleeps like a baby. The alarm goes off at five, and he rises unprotestingly, showers, dresses, goes downstairs.
There are lights on all over the board. Blue for new fumaroles, here, here and there, and another red one in the vicinity of Mount Pomona, and a whole epidemic of green dots announcing fresh lava cutting loose over what looks like the whole area, top to bottom. Mattison has never seen it look that bad. The crisis seems to be entering a new and very obnoxious phase. Volcano Central will be calling them out again today, sure as anything.
What the hell. We do what we can, and hope for the best, one day at a time.
He puts together some breakfast for himself and waits for the rest of the house to wake up.