"Perhaps the most radical change in Paris during confinement has been the sharp shift from a constant, but not wholly unpleasant, din to a resounding quiet---one far greater than even the calm at the peak of the city's traditional August lull. Without the morning chorus of enthusiastic bonjours and chatter between my building's guardian and its residents, or the hum of my favorite local cafés, the hours of the day have felt like an abstract blur. But it's the sounds that still remain I notice now, four weeks into quarantine, as well as the absence of others. There's the sound of my feet hitting the pavement for the occasional jog (but only within 0.6 miles from home and before 10 a.m. or after 7 p.m., as per the new restrictions for Parisians) and the phone alarm I set for my once-weekly shopping run to make sure I don't miss the short opening hours at my neighborhood bakery, greengrocer, and cheesemonger... Soon enough it will be 8 p.m. and time for a moment of collective applause for the health workers, steady like raindrops. I stand on my tiny balcony and clap enthusiastically along with unfamiliar neighbors who whistle. Grannies lean out their windows and wave scarves and dish towels with broad smiles. I don't recall ever having seen them on the streets but after four weeks, their faces, emotional like mine, will remain forever anchored to my memory of this time." An excerpt from @lostncheeseland's coronavirus quarantine dispatch---read in full at the link in bio. 📷: @bmseventh
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