I ordered a grocery box from a restaurant last week, and we drove over Friday afternoon to pick it up. Javier stayed in the car while I (borrowing his balaclava, since I’d forgotten my face covering) ran inside. There was an enormous security guard outside of the weed shop next door, and Javier wondered if it was still unsettling to him, a car driving up, driver inside idling, passenger pulling a black face mask on. Or if it’s just another normal thing now.
Saturday was warm and windless. We walked to Philz to pick up order-ahead iced coffees, then hopped on Lyft bikes and rode to Dynamo. They were out of donuts for the day, so we got back on the bikes and aimlessly rode around. The streets were empty and it felt a bit like Burning Man: carving around, Javier shirtless, keffiyeh around my head, wondering where to go next. We ended up getting a donut at Tartine Manufactory, and eating it at the park on 17th St. across from Parkside, which had reopened and was popping. We left early afternoon, and two minutes after we got back home Boy texted us that he was going to the park. So we headed right back.
The mad red welt on Javier’s arm randomly started leaking last week. (Truly. We were about to have lunch and he said, hold on, my arm is leaking.) It looks much better now.
I finished Mirror and Light, concluding my inadvertent and months-long study of complicated men of history who accumulate great power. Could they do it if they had to do it all on Zoom? How would LBJ grab lapels? How would Cromwell make sure he was always near Henry?