The ground was frozen. Her body became the same.
Maybe if I’m busy thinking about COVID-19, I won’t have room to think about the living, screaming person that will soon detach itself from my own person.
My wife, who is usually in charge of buying groceries, seemed perplexed by some of my purchases for outlasting the apocalypse.
In the city that some used to call the Seattle of Italy, nowadays you can only overdose on poetry.
The coronavirus has made me feel more connected to the world than I have felt in a long time.
Each panel felt a little like The Decameron, where we listened and told stories while the weight of the plague swung over us like a poorly-anchored chandelier.
“Love As The World Ends”
“If This Next Apocalypse Gets Canceled Or Postponed”
“Would you like to go for a dinner, let’s say in one or two months, if restaurant will be reopened by that time?” I imagine he would ask.