Gazing out, I entertain a fantasy of unrestricted movement, flashing limbs sashaying past, not this wary-dance and steaming sunglasses as I huff into my mask and deke sideways, but a full-on tango, unafraid to touch my partner, infected only by the pleasure of an uninflected moment. This enforced stillness cuts against the grain, face against the pane while dust settles around my settled feet a sedentary sediment crusting over my toes and rising up my legs, a pandemic Jimmy Hoffa buried beneath a mix of fear and boredom who stiffens in place and disappears. Let’s bust up this concrete lockdown and hurry back to going nowhere. I want to make my time matter or at least to make it pay for all the afternoons it pilfered. I’ll grab it by its wattled neck and demand it give me back the promised hours it snatched away.