Ask Howard
Cruel, cruel April Hurry up. Hurry up and wait. Is it just me, guys, or has every single day this spring felt like it’s the longest Sunday ever?
Our “Boring Twenties” new decade has been stalled out now, DOA, almost from the day it first started. Was it really just two years ago this very month that, overnight, we’d suddenly self-sequestered ourselves behind bolted doors, attempting vainly to hold back the angst of where, exactly, does a universal lockdown lead to?
The air, I recall, became so suddenly clear — via no cars on the roads — that from my balcony’s corner I could crisply see Fort Worth.
No plane trails zigzagged the sky. Mesozoic blue, it shimmered. At night, I could actually see twinkles up in the sky from more than just the Moon and Venus.
