March 2020

March 31, 2020


Don’t shake out your dirty laundry, the television says. You might release a viral cloud.

March 30, 2020


There’s the guy I’ve always wondered about, the one across the street who leaves big chunks of bread on the fire escape for the pigeons.

March 29, 2020


Meanwhile, I’m reverting to the diet of a five-year-old. All I want to eat are peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

March 28, 2020


Each headline is more disorienting than the last, and these pandemic days are breeding baroque conspiracies.

March 27, 2020


Every night the Electrifying Mojo would sign off with the same message and I want us to hear it in our heads now, delivered in a slow baritone with a grin around the edges.

March 26, 2020


The optics feel wrong, more like a simulation than reality; it’s eerie to see New Yorkers so evenly spaced apart.

March 25, 2020


I hear the undoing of a lock and her voice calling behind me. “Thank you, darling. Pray for me.”

March 24, 2020


A deeper hush fills the city, a sense of bracing for an unseen blow. We know things will get worse.

March 23, 2020


This is dedicated to the nighthawks and graveyard shifters, you beautiful enemies of sleep.

March 22, 2020


I spent the morning scrolling through images of empty highways and blank parking lots that look like a new form of land art or maybe a message to the gods.

March 21, 2020


Once this is over and we’re allowed to gather outside again, I hope we take to the streets for all kinds of reasons.

March 20, 2020


There’s a blush of dopamine, an uncoiling of the nerves: the smudged memory of doing arts and crafts in a classroom while a storm beats against the windows.