Clown world became hell sooner than you expected.
Punctuated by vignettes of street violence, each day bleeds into the next. Most days, you don’t see other people in the flesh. “No contact” delivery ensures seamless individuated consumption. Various platforms offer their condolences. In these trying times, Postmates is here for you. 25% of designer face mask proceeds go to nonprofits that teach inner city black girls how to code. Pornhub Premium is free. Feel better, they insist. We’re in this together.
Venturing into the public square for groceries, an amoebic cluster of what you skeptically still identify as human beings—nice, normal people—can be observed darting from aisle to aisle, making mundane appetitive pursuits as before, but more frantically now. As if under duress. When quarantine began, they used to gesture sympathy by cartoonishly twisting their eyebrows and tipping their head to one side. This was before it was decided who could walk which way down which aisles. Today, someone has taped arrows to the floor.
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