when there’s nothing to do and
I want to cry, but there’s nothing to cry about, so
I look up statistics about
death and morbidity, but they don’t do the
trick, so I find old photos of me when I
was dumber and I try to imagine what I said back then and
to whom I was speaking. If there were stories I
believed in the infodemic, if there were
things I saw while I was dreaming. But none of it made
me weep. In the end it was okay because I killed some time
and found that most things have improved. And I’m
smarter now.