Adrift in time, days wash by without regard for date or name. A whole week vanished in August. There is nowhere to go. No one wants our dollars. Once we modeled democracy. Our story now's a dark comedy. The President says the virus will vanish like a mist. No problem, he’s got this. Magical realism is fine for Isabel Allende and Gabriel Garcia Marquez, but has no place in a country where people die alone in crowded hospitals city folks swarm to the country morgue trailers line city streets. A pandemic’s not a minor event, a slight inconvenience. It stops the world. No magic can blind us to the growing pile of corpses.