Sanitizer
We wash our hands constantly like we’ve done something wrong. We try not to touch our faces. The man sitting next to me spritzes his hands with sanitizer each time he sends an email. Slow down, I think. That stuff is worth $400 now.
Last night I dreamt about a spray-tanned mouth hollering misspelled bullshit in all-caps. Fake news. Hoax. I dreamt of blinding dentures telling me the fact of the matter and saying here’s the deal. This election is going to be hell and I must stop watching the news. There was a time when being politically informed sounded dignified, even noble. Now it’s like throwing your soul in the trash. Hygiene starts with screens.
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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