It’s Monday, the people want Thai food. There’s a mysterious and annoying crack in my windshield that I believe has nothing to do with driving around town running Favors and making deliveries and everything to do with obnoxious, vindictive squirrels. An elderly man wanted a small number of grocery items, including olive oil and toilet paper. Earlier today the governor of Texas made an announcement about cautious steps towards furthering commerce. I’m not a fan, but I understand: there are counties in Texas, vast swaths of land, with zero cases of the infection. It must feel like a mirage to them, as those circumstances– zero cases, the opportunity for this pandemic to feel as though it could be a hoax– feel mirage-like to me.
The cats around town continue to make eye contact, telling me: Here I am, here you are. Here we are. We are here.
The evenings have been beautiful, a bumper crop of fireflies. Yesterday I watched a small blackbird chase a fat beetle under the canopy of a pecan tree; it seemed impossible that the bird couldn’t catch the beetle, and the beetle seemed as though it was fucking with the bird, but when they finally played their real cards, the bird nose-dived and the beetle got away… for now.
A different night, walking my dog, a kid on a bicycle who couldn’t have been older than thirteen approached from behind, politely swerving across the street to give me some space. As he pedaled past, I heard him say something, I assumed to himself. I smiled to myself, because it sounded like he said, “You have a very nice bootie.”
He rounded the block then returned. This time, he slowed down as he passed, slow enough to look at me directly and say, softly: You have a very nice bootie. The he smiled hugely, looked down at the asphalt and zoomed off.