Yn y dyfroedd fioled ynddyn ein galonnau
Just in case
spatch and I had had any doubts about the utility of the vaccinations we re-upped this afternoon at the Theatre Pharmacy, where you can still treat yourself from the candy counter after a shot—we got a packet of caramel creams, a Zagnut, and a Sky Bar—we were street-hassled for our masks less than an hour later while stepping out of Book Ends in Winchester Center, by a dude who thought comedy meant repeating the punch line. I may have told him to get under the earth.
Of my several attempts at a self-portrait from the passenger seat with my insurance phone's camera,
spatch said I should share the one where I look as though I have just seen a bird beyond the window.

He got me a reprint of Claire Keegan's Small Things Like These (2021) and a card featuring a small black cat, adorably rolled over, with sincere green eyes.
Of my several attempts at a self-portrait from the passenger seat with my insurance phone's camera,

He got me a reprint of Claire Keegan's Small Things Like These (2021) and a card featuring a small black cat, adorably rolled over, with sincere green eyes.

no subject
There's a lot of encouragement right now for people to get into business that isn't theirs.
I have never acclimated to masking. It's not good for the signals my body gets and it's not good for the way I breathe. Until such time as there is a universal vaccine for COVID-19 and enough members of the population vaccinated with it to create the baseline of herd immunity, which frankly I can't see ever happening anymore, which makes me furious, it will not be safe for me to move around in the world without some kind of protection against a disease that could kill me much more readily than the average person. So I mask and my skin screams at me and I really thought about turning around and walking straight back to the guy and asking him some personal questions and I still kind of regret that I didn't.