Hash

We had a run for the Little Rock Hash House Harriers that clearly demonstrated how fucking scared everyone is except me. We could start it anywhere from noon until 6 p.m., the idea being that no more than three or four or so would be out together.
I drank three cans of beer and no one stood any closer to anyone else than a good, solid ten feet. There were seven of us spread all over a front yard in the ghetto about a half-mile east of UALR.

OVERHEARD
"The only thing we have to fear is fear itself— nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror that paralyzes needed effort to convert retreat into advance."
—Franklin Delano Roosevelt from his 1931 inaugural address

Man, we're all going to die eventually, but if we cower in fear and give up the only way of living we've known, is that living? I say it's not. It isn't. I say, give me coronavirus and I'll take my chances. Eventually, maybe after a few more months of financial ruin and stir craziness, everyone will say fuck it, we can't hide anymore, we're catching this thing anyway, and go out with their friends for pitchers of beer, big bowls of chips, cheese dip, hot sauce, hot plates oozing with chili and cheese over tortillas stuffed with cheese and cow meat, and to hear me say, "See, I told you motherfuckers."
Go to the horse races if you want. Sign a waiver and have fun. Play the Masters, baseball, football, tennis, whatever. Come on, let's go. Let's live.

I PLAN TO STAB...
...the next celebrity musician I see televised by Skype singing as they sit next to their fireplace on CBS Morning News