Itâ€™s a Thursday evening, while the contemporary restaurant in midtown Manhattan is mobbed. a young girl goes to welcome her buddies but pauses. â€œAre we nevertheless kissing in the cheek?â€ she asks. (the clear answer seems to be a tentative yes.) Some guy in a suit that is gray out a container of Purell. â€œYou could offer that for $100 on Amazon,â€ some body close to him jokes. The gray-suit man laughs and walks away, clutching their bottle near to his upper body. a hand that is unattended sits for a dining table, appropriate close to a cappuccino, eyed covetously because of the people nearby. Somebody coughs. Everyone else cringes.
Meanwhile, my date is later. I fiddle through my clutch to discover something Iâ€™ve brought him: a mask, jammed between my secrets, wallet, phone, lipstick, and Purell.