A Journal of the Plague Year 2021–chapter 218

Thursday, June 17

We are back in the city for at least a week, seeing dentists and doctors and haircut artists. 

Yesterday, I went to the dentist at 8:30 a.m., the only time they could take me. It was OK, I’m no longer a late riser—the pandemic disruption has cured me of that. And out in the country, the songbirds get busy at 6 a.m., announcing the rising of the sun and time to get up and about.

 The hygienist wore a blue, disposable mask but told me that there would be no temperature taking or other precautions. The era of COVID restrictions was at an end, she announced. But she also said she expected another wave to hit in the fall.

Today, I’m seeing my GP, whose office is in one of those increasingly common NYC buildings with a mystifying address: 5 Columbus Circle.

There was a time when city addresses gave you a precise idea of location—1790 Broadway was once the building’s descriptive address. Broadway and 58th St. Now, the real estate industry glamorizers have taken over; 5 Columbus Circle sounds more hotsy-totsy, even if it leaves the poor pedestrian frantically Googling to discover the location.

The city. seems quite surreal—like an episode of the Twilight Zone or Life on Mars. It’s all in my mind, but it seems like a place from another time.

Dinner: sheet pan ratatouille with an avocado, lettuce, and grape tomato salad.

Entertainment: final episodes of pan-Euro thriller The Team on Mhz.