gallery

The neighbour owns a gallery, he makes exhibitions for artists there. He is preparing a new one, going by the sound of nails being driven into the wall, the other side of the sitting room wall. Who knows when he will hold this exhibition, what with the closure of all public gatherings.

It is morning, the day has started alone, the wife and the son are asleep, even the cat has gone to bed somewhere. There is just the ticking of the clocks, both of them working away. They are mechanical, and not perfectly synchronous.

The sounds outside are at the low level demanded by the virus, there is little traffic. There is a clear quality in the air that has never been seen before, the cars are not blowing their fumes because of the curtailment of movement. Nobody is going anywhere, and the planet is doing it's best to recover quickly. That is the pleasant interpretation.

The neighbour is still putting his nails into the wall, who knows what he needs them all for.
The sound is irritating, because of it's irregularity. It is almost as if he were deliberately trying to annoy people, which he is not. He just wants to hang his pictures.

This is now the beginning of the third week of isolation, there is nowhere to hide any more.

Leave these notes now, go to take pills and make another cup of warm drink