Today we are to travel the distant 3 miles to the grocery store. A dread heretofore felt only in the back alleys of my youth--spazzed out on clarky cat, paranoid and lost, sure that muscular rapists with aids hid around every corner--looms.
Now is not the time for heroism. I don't own a gun or hide razors in my gums. Now we hold our breaths, like we used to when driving past graveyards. Simpler times. Superstitious for all the right fanciful reasons.
Some ghosts are real. This is sewage-colored and noxious, we know, but still invisible. Or maybe it's pinkish, red, like sliced gums. You chew it like gum.
Disease.
More dead than 9/11. Less than flu or car crashes or starving babies. What level of panic should we be experiencing?
My nipples are erect, but not tingling.
Going to down this drink and brush my teeth and kiss my girl and read until it bores me to sleep.
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