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  • Ruth Walker

A coronavirus secret ...

I’m at an undisclosed location in the West Village, having drinks with a friend, when I hear what must be the most valuable piece of information of the age. She looks around her to ensure no one can overhear us, before leaning over and whispering.


I listen, agog, to what she has to tell me, then lean back, wide-eyed, incredulous, giddy with disbelief. She then points to a bodega behind us and nods, knowingly.


I waste no time. Before the server has had time to take my order for a second (or was it third?) martini, I grab a handful of dollars and walk purposefully towards the bodega, checking no one is following me.


Once inside, I follow my friend’s careful instructions. Turn left at the door, walk to the end of the aisle, second shelf. What I see takes my breath away. I pay swiftly, using unmarked bills, and walk out of the store, triumphantly brandishing my haul: two giant tubs of Clorox wipes


At a time when the world is going to hell in a handcart, you need to find joy in the little things. This is mine. 



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