A Continental Drift

Last fall I left my job at the jail. Ever since the coronavirus barreled its way into the city, I wonder what life there is like. Jail is all hard surfaces, places the virus would find friendly. Benches and tables. Hardback chairs. Windows covered in metal bars. The jail is also full of tight spaces and long waits. Staff, visitors and inmates stand on the waiting elevator. It can be minutes before the intercom crackles to life. "What floor?" It's a slow, slow drag, and maybe the elevator goes past your floor without letting you out, so you have to wait for the crackle again. And people get off and get on. And sometimes the elevator gets stuck -- old buildings, elevators in constant use (you don't use the stairs to get around in the jail). And you're just there, all awkward together. And inmates are assigned to cleaning detail, but there's only so much cleaning you can do. I mean, the cleaning supplies ran out all the time even before the virus. And how do...

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot! The world forgetting, by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind! Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd;