Author: Zane Harter

Ten? No… sixteen? Wait, twenty-seven days ago? It doesn’t matter. At a time when I followed the Gregorian calendar and before the coronavirus swept the nation, I had it figured out. I was working at a swanky marketing firm where the coffee was always warm and everyone was much better looking than me. I was making money, occasionally having sex, and I finally learned how to talk about art pretentiously in public. Then the virus began to ravage the states and I found my self working at home. Initially, it was nice not having to chain smoke cigarettes and get…