I read people are sharing basements. People are sleeping in subway tunnels, writing their children’s blood types on their arms.

And I imagine them. A child worries about their pet lizard in the tank at home. A woman could not get refills for her child’s seizure medication, has enough for only a few more doses. An elderly man forgot his heart medication. A family weeps for their dog, whom they could not find in time to bring along with them. A teacher, realizing her students’ homework is still in her bag, decides to grade it while she waits, knowing she may not see those children again. A mother struggles to nurse her baby without being able to find a quiet place. A hungry baby cannot calm enough to stay latched and be satisfied. A teenager with sensory issues rocks back and forth to block out the sirens and the crowd. A postpartum mother cannot return home to the readied nursery, but instead waits sitting up in a basement, her newborn infant in her arms. Strangers share snacks until they run out. Cell phones die. And just like that, keys to houses and cars become pieces of useless metal.

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