The Cover Age, Chapter 2

Suddenly I’m a blogger with a hot story, and I don’t want to write it. Sounds crazy. Bloggers will write anything. That’s kind of the point. Not in the way people feel free to voice any idiot opinion on social media, or in comments, but in that they have clearly given the idea thought, and they’re not just hoping their ideas will be lost in the shuffle, however crazy or awful, just because everyone knows that’s what everyone expects. Bloggers can usually depend a reasonably warm reception. Anyone who routinely visits them has usually deliberately sought them out, and has determined their viewpoint is sound, or at least entertaining, or at worst merely considers them a friend.

So what I’m doing is trying to frame this story in terms of how, say, Clive will respond to it. Clive’s the reader who always shows up, always has something to say. I can already guess how he would react to this. And that’s why I don’t want to write it up.

Instead I go for a walk. I haven’t really been outside in days. I’ve stuck my head out here and there, running brief errands like checking the mail or shopping across the street, but for the most part, because of the lockdown, I’ve stayed home, as I imagine most people are (although I still see plenty of traffic on the streets whenever I head out). I grab a book, because I walk and read, and hope I can clear my head.

It’s a hot day, and before too long I’m sweating. Later I’ll wonder if the sun got to me because of how long I was out, or because it had been so long since I was out for any real length of time, or, probably, both. I find toilet paper, one of the scarcest commodities, but the cheapest kind, of course. I don’t read much, in the end, but it’s still interesting; I’m still convinced that Stephen King was heavily inspired by The Outsiders. One of his many recent books was in fact titled The Outsider. Could be a coincidence. I figure, probably not.

The walk kills a few hours, and as a bonus I have a different kind of meal, a barbecue chicken wrap (for whatever reason I kept buying the wrong wrap the last few times), rather than the variations of pasta that has become my pandemic diet (other than snack food).

But I’m no closer to reaching a decision. In fact, I didn’t think about the story at all the whole time I was out. Now, though, I’m starting to form a resolution. I’m going to have to head out again.

I post something on the blog, addressing Clive directly, and he responds within a few hours. I’ve moved around a lot over the years. Clive, in his own blogging, was never shy about where he lives. Whether it was because in the end he seemed as real a friend as I had at that point or not, but now I live in the same city, and I finally told him. We’re going to meet up.

What I haven’t told him yet is that my ex lives here, too.

Well, as they say, May you live in interesting times...