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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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.
February 28, 2020


A woman was visibly upset in aisle six because they’re out of antibacterial hand-wipes. “But when will there be more?” I'm still thinking about the look in her eyes.
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.
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