In Wisconsin, the police shot a Black man in the back. Seven times. In front of his children. Protests collided with gun-wielding vigilantes. Two protestors were killed. The suspect is a white seventeen-year-old with “an intense affinity for guns, law enforcement, and President Trump,” according to the New York Times. Meanwhile, a massive hurricane named Laura churns in the Gulf of Mexico, breaking records as it aims for the Louisiana-Texas border.

This was the American weather when our synthetic Vice President solemnly told us to “never forget that where the spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom—and that means freedom always wins.” This mind-bending statement left me making a strangled noise somewhere near the borderline of sanity. Again: there’s something very rotten in Christendom if it can be used to sanctify bigotry, pollution, corporate tax cuts, and assault weapons.

I switched the channel and a meteorologist said, “Just behind this vortex is a wall of water getting ready to surge.”

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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