Forty-fourth Entry

Monday, April 27th, 2020

The heat in my little home is on again, and it’s nearly May. The chill has prolonged the blossoming trees and flowers. It’s been wonderful to have spring’s exuberance extended.

Thirty-five percent of the food pantries in NYC have closed. Most are small and rely on volunteers, which are often the elderly. Food insecurity is increasing across the US.

The Government Accounting Office projected 12% unemployment and a 5.6% drop in GDP by year’s end. Steve Mnuchin, Trump’s Treasury Secretary, says things are going to bounce back this summer.

It has been exhilarating to be out in the changed city, especially at night. However, on this grey day, riding along a nearly car-free Sixth Avenue, it all felt depressing.

Maybe it is the lack of sun, but the mid-afternoon emptiness feels more disturbing than the desolate nights. What will become of these closed stores—not to mention the people who worked in them? It’s like a graveyard. Everything is shut down. New York seems like a small Rust-Belt city, where the quiet downtown has become almost silent.

I circled around looking for a pastry before heading to my empty office. On the way, a roll-down gate ripped off a small shop on Seventh Avenue. caught my gaze. Gates, like chains, are only as good as their weakest links. A sturdy gate, poorly installed, might work well and look good until someone tries to break in. Often, all that’s needed is a sign merely stating there is an alarm system. Whoever pried open this gate was not trying to get into the store; they were trying to get into the cash machine mounted on the store’s facade.

I still haven’t heard any mention of boarded-up stores or looting.