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Since we moved to California nearly five years ago, I’ve felt, oh, three or four earthquakes.

None like the one that just transpired.

I’m sitting in a McDonald’s, writing. And—without warning—the floor starts moving. Like a wave beneath your feet. Shaking back and forth, up and down. I look around the restaurant. A guy in the rear (he’s from Texas, he told me), rises and bolts for the exit. The employees in the kitchen march for the front exit, like a military drill. One after another after another.

The thing was long—maybe a minute of nonstop shaking.

It’s a jarring thing to experience. Not scary, but unsettling.

I’m still dizzy.