Thursday, March 19th: I send my friend Barry a lengthy text, about what, I don’t remember.       He replies in a nanosecond. “Turn on your TV. The city is on lockdown. Will get back to you in a bit.”

       I stare at my TV as the Governor orders a lockdown for California’s 40 million residents. I text back “Holy Shit!”

       Friday, March 27th: I venture out for the first time since the lockdown to go to Whole Foods. As I arm myself with mask and gloves, it occurs to me that we’re in a whole heap of trouble in this Age of COVID-19. I understand I must stay inside because going out for any reason puts me in peril. But to stay in means no more strolling through the Mall or brunching with friends. No more concerts at the Music Center or plays at the Pantages. No more Pilates or dance classes. No more trips to the dog park or beach. So much is lost that is fun and interesting.

       I tentatively ease out of my driveway into what feels like a ghost town. I make my way onto Santa Monica Blvd. Streets are more deserted and eerily quiet than on a Christmas morning. Without the usual hum of traffic and pedestrians out and about, I’m aware of the natural beauty of the city. An urban forest of trees lines our streets. Manicured yards with rose gardens abound.

       I pass by City Hall housed in Spanish Revival architecture. There’re no cars or people in sight. While waiting for the light to change, I notice the Union 76 station is open and painfully devoid of customers. Across the street stands the Wallis with its unadorned architectural design and brown facade. Though situated in the hub of Beverly Hills, it’s closed and abandoned.

       At the market, there’s a line snaking around the building to keep shoppers safely separated. Royal blue tape on the ground measures out six feet between each of us. COVID-19 notices posted every few yards inside and outside are constant reminders of our distressing situation. “Guests 60+ can start to shop at 7:00 AM.” “Please practice social distancing.”

       The cool breeze and sunshine feel good against my skin. I enjoy small talk at a distance with the friendly woman in front of me as I inch my way through the line. “Where else do you shop?” I ask. I crave social engagement and connection. “I like your reusable bags,” she says. “Where did you get them?”

       Once inside, I join customers sparsely scattered throughout the store. Many of us wear gloves and masks. We shop with purpose, focus, and palpable anxiety. Gone are the days of meandering throughout the store relaxed and carefree. No more tasting samples. No more carefully reading labels. No more enjoying the shopping experience.