We could always use some more electrical equipment

Now they both float above the surface, describing a wide arc, moving at maybe 40 klicks, though unhurried and strangely still. One head gently leans on its companion's neck as on they charge, they float. 

Later Mo will spend twenty minutes joyfully fending off the advances of a Cockerdoodle, whatever the fuck that is, while the owner and I exchange pleasantries from halfway across a football pitch. I keep having to ask her to repeat herself. Because I am old, because I spend much of my working life beneath a speaker blaring, and because of, well you know. She's working from home. Her dog misses the other dogs from doggie day care. Her job is in wet wipes.

Used to spend much of my working day beneath the speaker blaring. And will again, one assumes, hopes. Nine Inch Nails, Selina Gomez, Missy. Up too loud. Making the sound level monitor on the wall flash its red eye of disapproval and futility.  But not these days. Now it's headphones in and nothing but Mountain Goats and Podcasts About You Know What. I need to stop it with the podcasts. The podcasts and the doom scrolling.

I'm scared, lots of the time. About losing someone. About what happens when it ends. About America and what all that horror might mean. But then I'm okay a lot too. Incredibly, I still have a job. We're healthy. We're careful. We are a strong family who know adversity and know how to love each other.

And then there's Mo and his greyhound friend, doing a lap, flowing through the spring air at sundown. 

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