It had to happen sooner or later—a day like any other that carried me into its eddies and set me spinning, unfolding hour by hour into a dream of panic or a sleepless reverie. And so here are words for yesterday. What I’ll remember: sketching a bad postcard Yosemite; my daughter’s new bangs; the curtains of quarantine drawn closer and tighter. It was sunny, I recall, and cool. We rode our bicycles past an outdoor concert setting up, the crowd or anti-crowd in little clusters ranging up and down the street, on stoops and lawns. Music, going to be played.