Somewhere in Ohio

Two years ago tonight in New York City, a strange blue light filled the sky. We stood at our windows spellbound by an eerie neon glow that looked like something from science fiction. It was the fallout from an explosion at a power plant in Queens. But for three or four minutes, something otherworldly seemed possible. (And now I know that when the rapture comes or aliens descend, I’ll pace the room for a few minutes, finish my coffee, and check the internet.)

I often think about the hum in my nerves that night, the flush of excitement when it looked like something unthinkable was happening, that the world might change completely. Be careful of what you wish for. Now I’m in Ohio, sheltering-in-place aside from trips to the grocery store. Tonight at the supermarket, I watched two shoppers get into an argument in front of the deli meat because one of them was wearing her mask below her nose.

Pale Cocoon – Laboratory Under the Blue Sky

繭 | Incidental Music, 1984 | Bandcamp
Each night in 2020, I wrote a short post for a series called Notes From the End of a World because I wanted to etch these days into my memory. Before the world changed completely.
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Ohio. Sunset: 9:02pm. The weather lady looked a little freaked out tonight as she stood before a map soaked in neon red.
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Debate night in America. We tune in because we need to know: Who can withstand the punishment of live television?
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But tonight there's light rain, our windows are open to the city's hum, and there's something dark and slow on the radio.
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