The kids are riding their bikes in circles around my desk in the garage.
It feels like I’m surrounded by a tiny biker gang.
They’re taking no prisoners.
Taking all snacks.
One holds an umbrella in the air like a sawed-off shotgun,
the other rides with a gang leader’s silent defiance.
Can’t tell THEM what to do.
And I don’t.
I just drink and write and wait for the world to continue ending.
Self-Isolation – Day 15: Daft Punk may end up saving us all.