Day 38: She Was Touching Her Face

Much like the frequent postings here so unashamedly rambling in their nature, and so unfiltered in their intent, I can find neither rhyme no reason tonight, not when the weight of another segregated pandemically-fringed night bears down on a terminally lonely man sitting solitary in a little blue house in the heart of the city of Wayne. A man trying his masked best to keep his head above the infections and his heart free from the frequent fevers running hot and hard through the streets, shimmering and flickering tantalizingly outside the hazy reflections of a smoke-stained window closed tight against the threats of a dangerous locked-out world lurking just outside. The overnight started the same as they do now most days, with hastily scribbled notes captured …

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