Woke up.
Neck pain. Back pain.
I wore yesterday’s clothes.

On my way to work,
the movie “28 Days Later” came to my mind.
Emptiness. Abandoned spaces.
Few cars.
It’s the end of the world, I thought.
It’s the end of my world.

And now I’m here
smoking a cigarette on the sidewalk,
inhaling the fear of death that’s in the air.
This Thursday feels like a Sunday,
but I’m not praying.
I’m thinking: Motherfuckers,
I was looking forward to
open sausages and open beer,
but they just told me
all restaurants are closed until further notice.

Corruption and incompetency.
Impotence.
The economic crisis.
The COVID-19 pandemic.
What’s next and what can we do?
We can’t run — they’re shutting down the airports.
We can’t hide — we’ll starve.

I can’t work.
I can’t think.

And now in the office,
in my rolling chair,
I’m trying to get rid of
this brain fog
by scrolling down
my Facebook newsfeed.

Moments ago,
I called the convenience store
and ordered wet wipes and
hand sanitizers.

I’m alone in the office.
There’s no one else here.