Dear Diary,
The city is in a lockdown. All sign of life in neighbouring houses is eerily absent. Cars, driveways and homes appear abandoned, dusty, as though residents have fled in a hurry. The front door doorknob is shining with frequent disinfectant rubs. Newspapers, milk packets, deliveries of medicines are sanitised before being touched. The only sounds emanate from hushed TV news channels and the frequent ping of WhatsApp forwards. Paranoia and suspicion are growing by the hour. What will become of us?
Day one, 10:00 am: The apple tastes of soap. It’s getting impossible to serve anything given the frequent disinfection
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