On the way to work Tory, if she’s on the tram as she is this morning, has taken to opening The Montage, to which she’s subscribed. For nearly three months now the opening page has been simply filled with the virus. The first thing you see, most days, are New Selaw, UK, C.S. and world figures. Cases, deaths. New Selaw figures have been more or less flat since the end of March but the world numbers are very worrying. She also has noticed, lately, a small, worrying, and persistent upswing in Victoria, looking, she decides, more with David’s virologist’s eyes than hers, because he’s written about how second waves come with mild inclines that then go suddenly crazy. She’s tired already and doesn’t want an upsurge, wishes she could unsee it. The tram rattles on past the Gardens stop. She wonders if she’ll ever stop for a quiet walk before work again. It feels like that all belongs to pre-virus Tory, not her, not this new and lacquered one... '
Plagued
Inkstained fingers 