Every night before 8 it starts. The noise penetrates my bedroom window. The sound of a thousand hoof beats or maybe the beginnings of a wild street party born of defiance. But by now, I recognize the call and I join automatically, almost as if I don’t have a choice. Continue reading “Lines”
He was among the first signs of life I saw this morning. Clad in a t-shirt, jeans, and white face mask, he hefted a family-size pack of toilet paper under each arm.
This plaza, with its three strips of dog feces-laden grass, is the closest we have to a park. It has its regulars; the old men who come to play checkers, mothers lining the benches as their children play, the guys drinking cans at all hours. It’s a working-class neighborhood and this meager plaza is very much a part of the daily social fabric. Continue reading “Countdown to lockdown”