Signs of life.
A walk down Sixth Avenue. I hear someone practicing the flute from an upper window. Note to self: write essay on the New York rear window sounds of yesteryear — the musician rehearsing. My destination: Ocean Fish Market, to see if they are open. I hold out no hope. And then, on this bright and sunny spring day, I discover that not only is the market open, but that my beloved Save On Fifth, my mini Five-and-Dime, the store I’ve shopped at since I moved to the Slope in 1987, with its lovely owners always greeting me from the counter, is open. The price of admission? That I wear my mask.
Done.