There’s a difference between being cautious and being compulsive.
boyfriend says quietly. “Life still has to go on. And we need food.”
I know that they’re right. We’d held out in self-quarantine for as long as we could. Now, staring down nearly empty cupboards, it was time to put some social distancing into practice and restock.
Except the idea of leaving our car during a pandemic felt like literal torture.
“I’d rather starve, honestly,” I groan.
Touching anything feels like willingly placing my hand over a stove burner. Breathing the same air as anyone near me feels like inhaling a death sentence.
And I’m not just afraid of other people, either. Because carriers of the virus can appear asymptomatic, I’m even more fearful of unknowingly spreading it to someone’s beloved Nana or immunocompromised friend.
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