I sit beneath the stucco roof of my forty-story apartment complex, looking out at the park between my building and its sister building. This is where I go when I need to quiet my mind and take stock of the madness around me. I see the Essex Dry Cleaners, still closed with no sign of reopening; strangely, there‘s still a prominent black and white sign inside the door imploring people to wear a mask. Two small plants sit on a…
