text: (Covid-19 still runs rampant) **March 2nd:** As I approach the entrance to the ferry terminal a man in uniform walks up to me. "You essential workforce?" I don't even answer him. I just reach into my back pocket and pull my work ID card out. I hold the card up next to my face so the man can simultaneously scan the card and make sure the picture looks like me. The app on the guard's phone tells him I am clear to work for the next 15 hours in Seattle. As I walk down the foot bridge I see a man being wrestled to the ground. He was probably not cleared for travel to the city... or even outside of his house. He probably wanted to visit family or...get groceries? No one can ever know. You don't ask questions. You just keep walking in the line, keeping a safe 6 foot distance from the person in front of you. I board the ferry and begin to look for a safe spot to sit. They have marked every few seats as viable options for sitting down. All booths have been taped off with red quarantine tape. I sit down on a marked seat and proceed to sanitize my phone. A security guard in the corner watches me with scrutiny, any reason to pull out his baton. The ferry ride is fairly uneventful and as we pull into dock the other "essential" persons begin to stand. We form a line starting from the door and it begins stretching far back into the ferry. We stand upon the designated line formation spots marked on the floor. More men in uniforms scan our ID badges as we disembark the boat and enter the city. **March 3rd:** It is Wednesday. I usually have Wednesdays and Thursdays off because of my being on a “reduced” hours schedule for the past year. This is in addition to a standard...restful Saturday and Sunday. My employer pays my hours worked and the government sends me a check in the mail for the remaining hours that I am not allowed to work. It is early so I use my phone to apply for an exercise permit. I set my phone down and look out the window. There are a few crows picking at food scraps that have dislodged from an overflowing garbage can. The phone screen lights up and a chime tells me my permit has been denied and instructs me to wait twenty minutes. Since my morning jog has been put on hold, I busy myself in the pantry. I start by counting my on-hand stock for a weekly report to the local state government. The things I must list include the following: toilet paper, hand soap, shampoo, dish soap, various canned foods, sanitizers and non-perishables. I live alone so it is easy to make short work of this list. I worry for families of more than three that must complete this chore daily. I submit my on-hand list through a government app on my phone. I am e-mailed a voucher that lists the quantities I am allowed to purchase on my next shopping trip. The voucher also says which day I am allowed to shop: “Thursday 3-4-21” paints the top of the voucher in crimson decree. This relieves me, as I enjoy Thursdays as my shopping day. My phone comes to life again with a different chime. I have been cleared to leave my apartment for the next hour strictly for the purpose of exercise.