Into the hills

A confirmed case of coronavirus in Manhattan. These are days of hand sanitizing lotion and being told to sing “Happy Birthday” twice in your head while washing your hands. Singing in your head is important. Sing it out loud and you’ll look like a serial killer preparing for a hunt.

Took the train upstate to visit a friend who moved into a massive barn after she retired. I like knowing there’s a direction to head after disaster strikes. “I know a woman in the Catskills,” I’ll say as we climb across the stalled traffic on George Washington Bridge with our belongings on our backs. “She has a well.”

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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