I find myself in a type of day that I have not had in weeks. The sun is barking through my window blinds. My hair is clean because my hot water is working enough to wash it thoroughly.
And it is quiet.
I don’t know why construction isn’t resuming today, why the apartment below me isn’t playing a symphony of slam and swear, but it is a welcome break. The restaurant across the street is closed today and so the exit to my apartment is not blocked by the scuttle of dozens of people pretending that waiting in a line doesn’t count as proximity. I can’t hear their conversation about pandemic fashion echoing through my kitchen, intermixed with the agitated Spanish from the construction workers below saying that that isn’t the right fitting, Pedro.
What do I even do with a day like this?
Do I call it…
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