Getting medieval at the drop of a hat in my beautiful bougie town, where I turn from one side of the street to the other to discover indescribably old folks limping together, one with a walker, one with a staff like goddamn Gandalf, both masked. People stand around isolated from one another as protocol dictates, not speaking, waiting for burritos or baked goods or to enter the hardware store. The heart of town that we live so close to, in, sacrificing the pale pleasures of suburban yards, filled now with half-lives only. Sunlight, viscous, benficient, pours over everyone like syrup.