Hello, hi, hey. I'm currently sitting on the floor of my bathroom in my apartment on Grand Street in Soho.

This has become my home office. To continue painting the picture, my laptop is in my lap, and I am running on about three hours of sleep. I had this idea to start recording

some of the stories that me and the rest of the writers have been writing from quarantine.

It's been almost two weeks since I've technically been in quarantine.

I can probably count on one hand how many breaths of fresh air I've taken since quarantine started,

which by the way is not me feeling bad for myself.

I don't feel bad for myself.

I don't know, the energy is changing. Not in a good way or a bad way, but if last week

I felt incredibly chaotic, just like operating at a baseline level of panicked, this week I think I'm settling in or adjusting to living at home and not

leaving home as a version of normal. And obviously, it's not great. And maybe it would be

if I didn't live in New York but you know

Mallory our executive editor is publishing a story which is a list of things she misses things she

will miss things she does not miss and things she looks forward to or something like that and

one of the lines she has at the end or the concluding line really that she has at the end

is New York is nothing without New Yorkers.

And it really hit me in the jugular when I read it because that's all I've been thinking

is what the hell is the point of living here if you can't be among

your neighbors and the extended families that you build with the restaurant owners under our

buildings and the shop owners who permeate our streets and it's just a very bizarre and eerie time to live

specifically in Soho, which feels probably more like a community, a cluster of community,

really, than a lot of other neighborhoods, or at least the ones that I am familiar with and

have lived in before.

...