All devices confirm a totalitarian existence, a 24-hour depression. I get my phone out, I scroll for anticipation of the future, I put my phone away. The threat is closing in, every minute, yet it still seems distant, in all other places apart from here. Cafes here and there – still open, still flickering – are populated by the odd soul, those who resist change to the end, enjoying a final strong espresso before this so-called war finally creeps in and empties the last frontiers.
I miss the chatter of the metro
That last coffee beneath terrible sunshine, people’s stares betraying thoughts focused on an unknown, unasked-for isolation, on the new rules that could not have been foreseen. They enjoy a solitary existence in these cafes, although most have already departed to unseen places, the coves of their apartments, the retreats of their kitchens and living rooms.
I dwell on the reality of lives moved elsewhere, indoors, a disappeared community. As part of my travels through these semi-abandoned routes I catch the occasional fraction of the now hidden lives, muffled conversations, the veiled sighs of displaced heat and movement. The subdued chatter from high above, from the basements too, and who knows where else. I cling to them, these diminishing trickles of outside gatherings.
dwell on the reality
Spectacularly, but slowly, the transformation happened, madly, but also in the most natural way. Consequently, some primal urge to adapt to survive blossoms, regardless of the linked torture. Consider this. Life evolves by flipping itself over and performing the reverse of the previously entrenched, and I’m inside that switch right now, the inside-out pathway of nocturnal flight in the waking moments. Most people are blindly awake behind their fortresses, engaging in a quiet existence, waiting for everything to deteriorate. Even the birds seem muted, perhaps alert to a wider sense.
© Copyright 2021 John Maher