I had this hanging in my room in the 1980’s; I got it from good ol’ Smith Haven Mall in Lake Grove, Long Island. I took two of those little glow-in-the-dark star stickers that people put on their ceilings and affixed them so that the cat’s eyes glowed when the light was turned off. And it looked damned cool.
So I hit the supermarket last night because I NEEDED fresh meat. (I’m part velociraptor. 23andMe says so. I even wrote it in on the census.)
Let me tell you something — Roanokers are 100 percent diligent in maintaining the recommended six feet of distance. And on top of that, they’re STILL polite and good-natured. My neighbors are smart, classy people.
And I’m doing my best to blend in … I think they’ve mistaken me for one of their own.
I’m honored today to see The Drabble feature my short poem, “November, Blue Ridge Mountains, 1992.”
“November, Blue Ridge Mountains, 1992,” by Eric Robert Nolan
If you’re lonely and you’re not sure when quarantine begins or ends, use some extra parts to make some robot friends.
Update: People should get started on this in the not-too-distant future.
But it’s at least better than PENNY Marshall law, because that shit’s just never enforced. (Give her any rule, she’ll break it.)