The drive in the morning to my place of work takes about an hour and a half. The traffic and the weather have aligned with my intention enough to keep the experience a positive one so far. The route is new enough that I can still see it. When I arrive, I must take my own temperature and log it in the binder along with my name, the date and the time in red ink.
The anxious man, the addicted woman, the girl who communicates in suicidal threats. A volatile young woman wearing a t-shirt that says THOU SHALL NOT TRY ME is waiting for her hearing. We all talk to each other in passing.
Driving home last night, I had to stop for gas in a neighboring town. The young woman inside the convenience store had her hair down and her mask on, but I recognized her eyes. She recognized me too and told me she quit the drive-thru where I sometimes get my morning coffee. She said it was over some drama that happened there. She said one of the regulars told her she should kill herself because she filled his cup about an inch higher than he preferred.
There's a particular kind of suffocation that takes place in these small towns. It's happening right now.
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