Day 8

Everyone was out today on friendly, isolated walks. All the people said hello, and complimented each other's yards and dogs. They did this from a comfortable distance. They did not stop, or slow down, or pester anyone with questions about the other's composting strategy. This is good. Let it be this way forever.

You can tell immediately the couples whose bodies are one petri dish from those whose bodies are separate petri dishes. Any two people who walk so close their elbows almost touch are bound together. They may not be lovers. They may be father and son. (We didn't ask. If they were lovers, congratulations old man). They may be roommates. Whatever they are to each other, they are one in being, bound by their willingness to almost touch---low-population islands separated from the other islands by a sea of not almost touching.

From my habitat today I observed a young woman walking her dog, while a young man matched her pace ten feet behind. In the golden days before isolation time, ten feet was the never-ever distance. Five feet was the maximum for friends. Twenty feet was the minimum for strangers walking on the same side of the street, exception granted for overtaking. Ten feet and holding was the signal-a-friendly-neighbor-to-call-the-police distance. Now, if my assessment is right, ten feet and holding is the official distance of "We met on Tinder just before the Dawn of the Dread, and we aren't so sure of each other that we're ready to almost touch elbows, but neither do we want to waste a sunny afternoon, so let's go out together on our own silent, antiseptic parade."