I’m reading Austen. Wasn’t part of the plan, but now I’ve started, I can’t let up.
We’ve somehow managed to avoid ordering take-away, probably for the better, though opinion is divided on how hazardous a practice this could be.
There’s been something of a re-flowering of the bewildered bikes; perhaps the curve peaks Friday-Sunday. When you're having to be a bit of a huevón 24-7, the arrival of an actual weekend possibly provides some relief from the sheer guilt of it all.
One local eatery, known affectionately to locals as Patas Arriba — perhaps because it soon will be — has started advertising items on its menu as the scientifically-proven prophylactic deterrent against covid-19.
This may not be an on-the-books delito, yet in a nation as credulous as this, it possibly ought to be. (I suppose any establishment willing to use a dead rodent as the emblem of its kitchen, heads off to the races with a bit of a handicap.)
There’s questionable taste and then there’s the sort of thing that unquestionably makes you want to repeatedly scrub your hands.
Meanwhile, a family group just passed outside, dad in almost full Cassandra Crossing hazmat (minus the sub-machinegun) , mum and one daughter a bit more ninja and the other daughter could have been trying to blend in on the streets of Kabul.