Last night I dreamt about a god who was angry because the noise of humanity prevented him from sleeping. This dream followed me into the vacant streets today, a city shuttered and hushed with only the occasional masked figure. I stood in the middle of First Avenue for a moment, losing the line between reality and dream.
A damp April day, the sky paper blank. Sixteen million people have filed for unemployment, yet the stock market is rising. We’ve built such a senseless hall of mirrors. If this pandemic doesn’t restore our senses, what will it take?
