It was mid-March. I was on my way back from Manila to Mexico, transiting through San Francisco.
A number of folks, like me, had congregated at a bar, perhaps for the last time in a long while, chatting nervously about the emerging coronavirus pandemic. Suddenly, a woman appeared. A gauzy scarf wrapped loosely in many layers about her neck over a slivery dress, set off by spidery web gold earrings and necklace.
She said nothing at first, standing there like wisdom personified, listening to the rest of us, cocking her head to one side whilst enjoying her cocktail. Then, as suddenly as she had appeared, and without due hesitation, she announced, “This thing…” pausing for a sip, “it’s a culling of the herd, nothing personal.”
With that, she tipped her glass, drained her drink, licked her lips, looked at each one of us in turn, mysteriously whispered some words none of us could hear, turned and walked away without a glance back.