Tuesday, September 22nd, 2020

The cashier at the supermarket insists on spraying alcohol gel on my hands after I check out. “You must always be clean. Your hands must always be clean. You should also clean that apple before you eat it. But not with alcohol gel.” The cafe on the other side of the building entrance should only be doing deliveries. It’s open for takeout. The tables on its patio are gone. The built-in benches remain. Customers relax on them, drinking coffee. Downtown is less deserted than I expect. The groceries and produce shops are open. The usual cluster of wheelchairs and caregivers is in its place near the street. Doors are open at a lawyer’s office and a butcher shop. I thought they had shut down. The lotto booth has a vague line of customers. It might be a protected business. The burger joint’s inside lights are on. Its patio is dark. The end of the square smells like fresh, warm hummus, but the shop is closed. Maybe they, too, were open for deliveries. Dogs and people walk by. Cats dart in and out of the bushes, keeping their distance. Much of the square looks as it might if I were walking through at midnight. No one is protesting the lockdown. The people that I see mostly look tired. Everyone is ready for all this to be done. But we’ll still be wandering, hidden behind masks, for several more months, maybe for years.