I do my best thinking in the shower. As the water runs down my face and pools around my feet, I somehow gain a new perspective. Things become clearer. But living alone during the quarantine has meant those moments have become decidedly fewer and farther between. Continue reading “Deep thoughts, shallow thoughts”
The first week has dragged on. Almost to the point where at times it’s hard to believe that the clock is even advancing at all. I spend the days ping-ponging between feeling a frantic need to be productive and letting myself succumb to the stupor of this house arrest. Continue reading “Listlessness vs. Gratitude: round 1”
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”
The Rambling Traveler 