Impenetrable gray within and without, in spite of the orchid, daffodils, succulents crowding the windowsills. I am representative of what? Middle-aged white guys, deracinated Jews, the over-educated, dad jokes, dadbods, the noonday demon. Coronavirus brings acedia in its wake; acedia, the medieval Christian monk’s indifference to his own salvation. But I still care about rejection. A lost seagull wings its way over the building that neighbors us to the west, vanishing white on white. There’s quiet and then there’s calm. Yesterday in the sun my daughter rollerbladed to a little beach to frolic in the sand. Frolic is her word.