A tailor’s shop on our block features a large, plate glass window through which we glimpse the tailor—a cheery and maskless soul who smiles at us each day from his empty store (we usually stroll past during the morning rush; I doubt many folks stop for alterations on their way to work). I haven’t spotted a mask around his neck, either, and the ubiquitous signs demanding muzzles that adorn all storefronts are absent from his. Could he be a dissident refusing to cooperate with the plandemic?
When he waved to me this morning, I turned in at his door. And to my vast disappointment, a mask instantly materialized in his hand.
“No, no!” I grinned at him. “You don’t need to put that on for me, for heaven’s sake, I was stopping in to say how much I appreciate your naked face!”
His eyes crinkled above the muzzle; I’m sure he was beaming. But his gaze never left the window behind me.
“So nice to see your smile every day,” I babbled as he stepped from behind his counter and herded me towards the door, eyes fixed on the window.
And then I understood: he very much feared someone would see a maskless woman in his shop and report him.
What have we become?
12:52 pm on October 21, 2020
