It wasn’t as bad

It wasn’t as bad in 2015.

It was bad, but it wasn’t like this. She didn’t feel it as much. She watches people more now. She takes the tram and everyone has their phone in their hand. They wear masks. They look down not up.

Everyone looks down.

When they look up they look out the window. As if they’re trying to digest what they’ve seen. Cases rising in Belgium. Cases rising. A man twiddles his thumbs. He gets off the tram. He keeps looking at his phone. Everyone is looking. Rows of seats staring at screens. Someone could die in the tram corridor but it wouldn’t matter: the deaths are on the phone. That is where death matters.

She can’t bear to look. She gets off. She wishes she could get off. She walks to her apartment, contemplating where she could find a night shop. They all close at 10 now. She wonders when the evening stops and the night begins. Every shop she goes to is closed.

She stops outside one. It’s closed. She turns around and a man in a mask stares at her. She can’t see his mouth but she can see his eyes. They are dark and scared. He dodges her. She walks home.