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A complaint that isn't.
An actor's lament that while he could recently walk the streets unnoticed, fans now come up to him for selfies.
Her complain't that men looked desirously upon her when she entered a room would, in a few years time, become a genuine complaint that no one looked anymore.
The measure of some couples' suitability for each other while shut in together for months.
The stay-at-home order sounded nice, uninterrupted solitude, a luxury they'd never had. Until the 96th night of lockdown when she mentioned quietly that she thought Bill Gates had engineered this whole thing, he went to sleep on the floor, and they were forced to accept their own combatibility.
Going nowhere. Staying in place.
A variant on the words excursion, incursion, recursion, discursion.
Putting on neither coat, nor hat, nor boots, grabbing neither his car keys nor his bag, he prepared for another staticursion, staying where he was, where he had been, and where he would be for the foreseeable future - home.
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The magic pill many wish they could take to snap out of the endless torpor of the pandemic.
"If there's no vaccine, the least they could do is market an anticovidepressant. I mean, Jesus, how much freakin' longer is this going to drag on?" she thought, almost unable to remember her fun-loving, free-spirited, hopeful and joyful self.
An abstract construct. How the once-real world feels to many, after weeks of social distancing and lockdown.
She knew they were real people on her screen, during the zoom meeting, sorta. The truth was, she saw it as an abstruct, which she hoped no one could tell.
The delusion of stability, an instant before everything goes to hell.
The deal was set, he'd committed to buy, still not sure when his financing would be approved, but hey, if you have one foot on the boat, one on the dock, what can go wrong?
"How are you?" she asked.
"Ok" he replied.
"Good, or just ok?"
"Gokd".