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”