Wednesday, September 9th, 2020

I work late into the night, cramming to finish a video for a virtual trade show. I’m effectively flying blind. Something has gone awry with how the software appears on my screens, so I’m editing entirely by sound. I only see what I’ve done when I output the result. That takes a while each time. My boss and I sit in his office and go over changes. We munch on crisp breadsticks. He holds his like a pen. I hold mine like a cigar. I’ve never smoked, but experiments with celery sticks have shown me that that’s the easiest way to hold such things while I work. When the deadline gets too near, my boss gets on the phone to the person to whom I have to send the files. Through the mystery of boss-to-boss communications and the magic of opposing time zones, we get a day’s reprieve. I close out the project for the evening. The boss offers me a ride home. We head through the main doors together. On the right doorpost, I swipe my time card. On the left, he kisses the mezuzah. There’s little traffic at night. The navigator on his phone guides us along narrow streets. I’m surprised his SUV can squeeze through them. He drops me off at the end of my road. When I reach into my pocket for my keys, I find my mask and realize that I’m not wearing it. I come into the house, fix myself a cheese sandwich, and sit down to write.