Microbiome: Chapter 3, A Lachrymose Tale

Dr. Jane Grace Goodfellow had slipped into a mild depression. She was lethargic but completely functional. These days are not easy. She wrote it down, then added "I'm having a hard time."

As scientists sometimes do she kept a diary. The last entry, written only moments ago, went like this;  "I'm hungry. I think I'll go out for a hot dog. I know it's a fools journey. Nothing like living on the edge. Ha! Ha!" The exclamation points were added to show she still maintained a sense of humor.

She took the elevator down to the main floor. Thankfully the descending conveyance did not stop to let other passengers enter the elfin sized compartment. Those moments sure were awkward. Elevators were on the list of confined spaces permitting a maximum of one occupant at a time. Most people choose to ignore the recommendations.

Last week an uncomfortable situation arose when Karen and Kenzington, a young couple sweet as goats milk, were, when the elevator lurched to a halt and the door opened, revealed to be clutching one another in a rather erotic embrace and kissing through their face masks.

Idiots, kissing in a public place was a social faux pax, face mask or no face mask, and if they were caught on flash cam, well, the consequences could be consequential. Dr. Jane was even more uncomfortable when the two of them smiled, the corners of their eyes crinkling above the line of their masks, and boarded the lift. 

But that was then, and this is now and for the first time in how many days she walked through the revolving doors out onto the semi-bustling street. She stood there, rolled herself a cigarette, slipped down her mask, inhaled city air that seemed fresher than it had in ages, and began to walk.

Traffic was light, stores were shuttered, some boarded. A bus went by, mostly empty. Unconsciously and without provocation she spat on the sidewalk. The expectorate landed where she was about to place her food so she stepped over the spittle and unceremoniously strolled on. 

Three blocks down George the 'Sausage Guy' had a still booming business. Overhead was low and he was raking in the cash. Okay, booming may not be the right choice of word but he was doing alright compared to most. Competition in the form of sit in restaurants never really returned after the lockdown let up. A lot of eateries closed for good and many of those that did open never regained their clientele.

"Dr. Jane, how are ya kiddo? Haven't seen ya in a few weeks. Laying low like most of us? No bout a doubt it, times have changed. Glad to see you wearing a mask, sort a. Not like half these bozos. I got one custom. Look, see, there's a picture of a tiny guy eating a huge sausage." He points to his mask. "Get it?"

She didn't get it. Whatever. "I am well George. Hanging in there as best I can. I have to admit, some days are more difficult than others. I originally wanted to purchase a simple hot dog but have reconsidered my desires and I now crave a Sausage Extreme with all the fixings."

"Good choice Dr. Jane. Comin' right up. Say, haven't seen your geographically challenged boyfriend for over a month. 'Dats not like him. He come down with the Covid?"

Jane paused before answering. She flicked the butt. Watched it sail out into non-existent traffic. It landed on the road and smoldered a moment before the glow fizzled. "He is out of town. He left unexpectedly. I'm not exactly sure where he went. Actually, I have no idea where he went and I have not heard from him. Gomez went with him, I am sure."

"Those two are as inseparable as mustard and ketchup. Get it? Hey, you want kraut on the sausage?"

"Of course. George, tell me something. Have you ever traveled?"

Meanwhile, in another part of the city a highly leveraged chain of hot dog stands was about to go under.

George, the one man Pop stand, was soon to loose a lot of competition. It was another knife wound into the heart of the ailing economy. Shortly thereafter a bank would default and set off a chain of events unparalleled in human history.