It is 4:00 AM.Not quite,more like 4:02,or 4:05.But it doesn’tmatter really,like how the viruswill one day leaveand we will stillwash our handsevery time weget home fromthe store.I am sitting in bedreading a book Ilove, a story thatleaves me at peaceevery time I read it.It’s calming,in a strange way,even though thereis a conflict,like how the skycan still be thatbeautiful electricindigo of 4:00 AM,or 4:02,and in the backof my mindI know thatpeople are still dying.