A post-apocalyptic love story.
He met her in a bar in New York City the night before the Lockdown hit.
Outside the bar the downtown streets brayed with energy. Those who walked out there did so as a self-selecting crowd, willing to break curfew, risk arrest, fall down drunk, get laid, catch the God-damned Monkey Flu and die, all in one fell apocalyptic swoop.
It was the night before the pandemic closed down an unflinching pit bull of a city, with shelter-in-place orders two weeks old, and much stricter orders set to go into effect at 6 a.m. The bars closed at 4 a.m. in Manhattan. It felt like a sign to him, to her, to everyone who took their life in their hands to venture out into the dark and a reckless final night of freedom.