Between my frequent hand and face washings, surgical gloves, N95 face masks, baby wipe packets, brawny constitution and a general uptick in antiseptic cleaning maintenance all around, I’m not concerned about flying back to Los Angeles tomorrow evening. Well, somewhat concerned but not, you know, “worried”.

What kind of blighted environment awaits? What a difference since I left a week ago. No movies, no restaurants except for take-out, no hanging in Starbucks, no nothing except for hiking and beach-sitting. Plus lines outside of gun stores and the possibility of martial law. Eventually we’ll be northern Italy, partly if not largely because of under-40s, operating under an impression that they’re bulletproof, ignoring the whole thing and party-ing like there’s no tomorrow.