OMG. I can’t believe I haven’t written anything in over a month. And so much has happened in the world, so much as happened in me, I would not know where to begin.

How strange it is to be back in my home city, reunited with my community of friends who I have had absolutely no contact with, because of covid. I traded in my New England quarantine for a Chicago quarantine and it feels almost exactly the same. But with better take out options. It’s true.

Strangers are a bit friendlier too.

Even behind masks.

But not being able to smile at anyone… this is no way for people to live. Which I should not be complaining about because the main thing to do right now is to try to keep living. Try as hard as one can.

Writing makes me very tired.

Any effort makes me tired.

But I should not complain.

At least I still inhabit a body that is still capable of getting tired.

About The Lost Pedestrian

In my wanderings throughout the moments/days/years, I try in earnest to find the mystical within the mundane and the mundane within the mystical, oftentimes confusing one from the other. I have wandered and roamed through many a city, many a town, in a state of wonder and bewilderment, without necessarily going anywhere. I am easily lost, but eventually found. (I am guessing you have just found me). My sincere hope is that you will find Something in this warehouse of thought, memory and false memory, words, numbers, tangents, murmurs, echoes (lots and lots of echoes), voices, dreams, and other paraphernalia.
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