Like the rest of the world, I became a Chappell Roan fan this summer. And while, in the six months since my first COVID infection, I’d learned the hard way that I could no longer use the little off brand stairmaster in my apartment, I’d begun to enjoy my gentle evening walks in the neighborhood with Chappell as May passed, and June.
I’d wait until 8 pm or 9, because in DC this late in the climate crisis it won’t drop below 90 much earlier than that. I’d coat myself in high-percentage DEET bug spray, the greasy, deep-woods stuff, none of that all-natural nonsense that well-meaning moms use to protect their kids and the local wildlife (including the mosquitoes).
And then I’d take a walk, a simple thing that had become a not-so-simple thing.
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