Although they say smoke merely makes bees drunk,
I’m worried what might happen to the Notre Dame hives if they lose their
queen.

Biking through a post-virus-apocalypse Paris was surreal. The streets were eerily empty and the Chanel and Gucci ads that had plastered the kiosks and bus stops were replaced by health advisories and public thanks to medical professionals.

Thinking at the anatomical level about the potential scourge of pathogens and parasites has led me to conclude that my physical body is more discerning and intelligent than any so-called “thinking” person, much less any government.

say elevator. say sidewalk.

say water different than
your mother says it,

cradling the edges inside the bowl
of your mouth.

Soaping up hairy legs is like bathing horses. With my fingers on the foamy plush of my calf, I remember my grandfather Alberto’s horses."

A Coronavirus novel, in theory, brings a quotidian narrative to epidemic literature. This is not a story of a select few but rather of everyone; not only lives but livelihoods.