Stranger Than Fiction, Indeed

Updated: Apr 25

It's the time of coronavirus, and we're deep in the thick of it. In Hoboken, NJ, where I live, it's even deeper as we're 53,000 people packed into a square mile. That means one is never EVER alone when one goes out, and so we all stay in, fearing that the sheer density of this tiny but enormous city on the Hudson has Covid swirling through the molecules at every street corner.


In my own case, I fall into two dangerous categories. Technically, I'm a senior now, although I can't really bring myself to state my age, which is odd, as age has always been a non-issue for me. Yet there's something about being this age that has that irrelevant ring to it, like, "Oh, she's 61 now. She's starting to crumble, and funny how we all look right through her. Is she even there?" (Note that I can say my age only when a fictitious character says it.)