Edit

The trees are budding now, little sprouts puffing up and stretching out at the ends of thin winter limbs. Washington square park bulges and shivers with unbelieving people, smiling into warm evenings in disbelief. A pandemic waits around the corner, neck and neck with spring, and the little human struggle to make sense of the outcomes. Toilet paper shelves lie bare in supermarkets but the bar is full on a Tuesday night, we have to still be humans somehow. I wrote some truths into a book but truths have nothing on the strengths of our hearts, she says after our first date I called my mother to say I’m going to marry him, and you know what she means, but reluctantly, so what do we call that? There isn’t hand sanitizer enough in the county for this scourge.

Tomorrow we may all be quarantined.

Stock up on toilet paper all you want. In the end you’re still stuck with yourself.