Nick’s used to funereal emptiness on the streets, even while the sun shines and the moon dances.
A sputtering truck or pedestrian’s conversations make him recoil. Why are they out? Are they looking for toilet paper to foist? Will they kill him?
Nick has to laugh. What happened to the man who believed in goodness?
They’re probably getting air on the way to the store. They need reminders of fleeting beauty.
But how do you know with certainty?
Nick draws the shutters, sticks in headphones, barricades the doors. Tries to block shame, hides the toilet paper.
He thinks he’s prepared.