Format the following passage properly, for storytelling purposes. Keep it as written, don't change a single word, but improve grammar where necessary.

Rumblings of thunder are mixed with the applause of a studio audience. The thunder rumbles yet again. Another rumble. It seems as though the Creator has a message He wants to convey to the people of this world. A quick DuckDuckGo search notes that the National Weather Service has issued a heat advisory for our area, that we can expect 'isolated thunderstorms' in Boca Raton. For the next six hours, the odds of rain will go from 40%, to 50%, back to 40%. By midnight, those odds will have gone back down to zero percent. I hear a singer, but cannot place the name of the artist, or the name of their song. By the time I am able to get back into my phone, after entering the passcode and opening up Shazam, the performance has already ended. Another afternoon talk show, hosted by the lovely Jennifer Hudson. (A fantastic singer, who I remember listening to in high school and enjoying very much; I am glad to see her still having fun and doing what she loves.) I am more interested in the audio coming from a certain housemate's television; I'm pretty sure I know exactly who, but as I am reluctant to be humbled by the universe again, I do not entertain the idea of my answer being unequivocally correct. I do know for a fact that it is a rerun of "Mama's Family," which as of the time of writing is eight minutes away from its conclusion (including the closing credits and Joe Hamilton Productions logo, plus the Warner Bros. Television Distribution logo that is tacked to the end of every rebroadcast). The housemate I am thinking of comes out to ask another housemate if they are doing okay. Most likely it is the older gentleman--the eldest of the residents, the one who not too long ago celebrated his seventy-sixth birthday, long enough ago that I had not yet moved in but not so long ago that a full calendar year has passed--who after at least a month of rehabilitation has made a safe return home. Alas, our house manager was not able to transport us back to the Joshua House due to home-related obligations, but another manager was willing to do the job in their stead. She seemed quite focused on the task at hand, and not one for idle talk. She is in her seventies now--a mature, older woman. She originally hails from Trinidad and Tobago, a culture where respect for oneself and others is as beloved as apple pie and baseball here in the United States, or poutine and hockey in Canada. (Mmmm.) I ask her if she has had a good day, and she responds with an acknowledgment that is more than just a simple 'yes' but not one that would suggest a desire to elaborate further. I thank her, and others in the van do likewise. She remains silent. She has been through a lot, and probably suffered losses few could bear. For all I know she may have learned of the passing of a friend or family member and still been expected to fulfill her obligations as she is normally expected to do. I know beyond a doubt I'd fare no better in her position; quite frankly, I would probably contribute to the literal destruction of one of these houses. A housemate thanks her, and suddenly she seems a bit more open and receptive. Perhaps because they are close in age, there is a bit of a spiritual kinship, the feeling two people feel when they have been through many challenges in life and have lived mostly through the same eras. Tempting though it is to take things personally,I refuse to appease the ego that yearns for stroking. The ego expects certain things. It talks to you when those things do not happen, and tries to make it so you only see the worst in people, or assume the worst. But by killing the ego, you can give birth to humility. There is no reason for me to be concerned about how she must be feeling, though I by no means wish her any ills. The true main event is the return of our dear friend, the seventy-something who has seen more than any of us, and lived through historical events that I can only learn about by reading books or watching archival footage. That was then, this is now. Some people say you shouldn't look back at the past. And yet, the past provides the answers for how to be victorious in the present and make some sense of the future, whatever it may hold. Our house manager communicates with a CNA. It seems we will not have to worry about being served expired snacks; not long ago, I consumed the contents of a bag of SunChips that was more than two months past its sell-by date, and have reason to believe it had an adverse effect on my body. Last week I experienced what felt like a miniature-scale heart attack. I am not sure what could have possibly caused it, and as much as I do not want to blame the chips--as I had never experienced such a severe feeling from consuming expired food in the past--it seems too remarkable to be a coincidence. The timing was too precise. From the moment I took the first bite, something seemed very wrong. After taking a look at the date, I proceeded to finish the bag. The chips were stale, but I have noticed that with stale chips, the seasoning 'pops' a bit more. Earlier this week, when I had the chance to speak to a staff member, it seems we were able to get the matter resolved because I overheard the house manager speaking to a CNA this morning, giving her what seemed to be a 'refresher' on changing out snacks once they pass their sell-by date and acknowledging the availability of additional boxes, each marked for a certain date. The house manager continues to converse with a CNA, and two housemates engage in a brief--and relatively one-sided--conversation. One-sided not because one person is dominating the discussion to the point that the other cannot get a word in edgewise, but because one of the participants in said conversation has a limited power to express what is on her mind. She is better at verbalizing her thoughts than she was when she first moved in, at least from what I was told, but her thoughts rarely extend beyond a gentle 'hello,' an inquiry as to where we are going tomorrow, curiosity as to the whereabouts of a missing housemate, or sounds of distress (or excitement; sometimes, it is difficult to discern). I feel such a kinship with her, and her brother. In them, I see the siblings I always wanted to have; they are like a little bro and sis, even though they are actually older than me. Their vulnerability leads me to reflect on mine and want to be here for them. The 'sis' conveys some sounds of distress, in what appears to be a call for a CNA to assist her with something, most likely a shower. Another housemate is staying close by, and helping to keep her calm until the CNA can finally join her in the bathroom. Hearing the sound of footsteps, I turn around and see the 'sis' completely naked. I am more fascinated than mortified, but quickly divert my eyes back to the computer screen. Though she is technically a family member now, I want to appreciate her in her most dignified state, and not in the vulnerability of preparing to take a shower. The 'sis' and the housemate continue their conversation; the 'sis' asks the housemate, much as I had anticipated, where we are going tomorrow. "Back to JARC, back to work," she says. Things are changing, and yet exactly the same as they ever were. The 'sis' coughs, likely a symptom of her post-nasal drip flaring up. I reflect on the logistics of our old friend being back home, and realize I will have to be a bit more considerate. The music will not be as loud. I'll go to sleep much earlier. Gradually, everything will go back to normal. And yet, my 'normal' would be everyone else's 'insane.'