Day 13 of the COVID-19 lockdown in Denmark

 Day 13 of the COVID-19 lockdown in Denmark

It's been a busy day for me, working on a project in the morning, then meeting with my colleagues online, and later in the afternoon, heading off to the now-empty building in Copenhagen where I usually teach, to gather some materials I will need for on-line teaching in the coming weeks.

This included making copies of a few pages from a TOEFL reviewer, a cumbersome book that weighs a kilo and a half, which I carried in my arms to my workplace and back. There are 744 pages in it, plus the table of contents. If all the lives of all the people who died in Italy today, the 24th of March, were compressed into 500 words and printed, this is how heavy their story would feel.

In the train, I eye my fellow commuters surreptitiously. None of the natty blond men in their narrow trousers and cognac oxfords with matching briefcases: they would all be working from home. These travelers are slightly rumpled, in heavy shoes and oversize worker pants: the service people who need to keep the city going, COVID or not. They sport interesting ways to protect themselves: some pull their turtleneck sweaters up over their noses, others burrow into the stovepipe collars of their jackets, some have donned surgical masks and face shields. People use their elbows and the sleeves of their jackets to press the train door buttons. We keep our distance, moving in a strange zombie shuffle to avoid barreling into each other. A tiny cough here and there draws nervous glances. I've been hankering for a big bad burger for days. At McDonald's, there are four kids at the counter to serve the lone takeaway customer, me. At Kongens Nytorv, a woman feeds a flock of pigeons. When she leaves, the bag of crumbs all gone, they wheel around the square. I don't know whether they are happy or distressed, or just being birds.

On the return, I pass the same way. The square is empty except for rows of bicycles -- cool and melancholic in the blue hour. So ends this day.