Chapter 18
It was September 18th, 2020. Covid cases had fallen precipitously due to the warm humid summer air leading everyone to go outside, fleeing their indoor prisons. Even the protests had calmed. It had been a hot, moist, weird summer in Manhattan. We all seemed to understand—as Fauci and expert epidemiologists had repeatedly said—that, come winter, we’d all be back inside again. We’d be back to lockdowns. Shelter-in-place. With the isolation; the solitude; the brutal loneliness; seeing the world through our iPhones and television and computer screens as if from another planet. We were the snowballs inside of the global snow-globe; we would, again, be trapped, with no escape. It was like considering the notion of death, the total loss of consciousness so difficult to grasp that we finally ga…
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