Seattle has been dubbed the coronavirus capital of the United States because of the number of deaths at a nursing home in Kirkland, a suburb northeast and across Lake Washington from the city.
Last Thursday afternoon I noticed that streets usually choked with traffic for the homeward-bound commute were mostly empty. They have remained that way. Apparently the large employers who occupy the office towers in the northern part of downtown, what's known as the Denny Triangle, instructed their workers to stay home. This has made for a much more pleasant commute to and from work.
I would guess that area shops and restaurants are operating at about one-fifth of their usual clientele. I have one entire section of the cafe where I usually get a lunchtime espresso all to myself.
Deliverymen are still making the rounds. Gallows humor sprinkled with a touch of awe is common. Yesterday morning on my way into work I noticed that the enormous commercial construction sites that line Denny Way have gone mostly silent. A race I've run every March since 2011, the St. Patrick's Day Dash, has been cancelled.
My memory of Daniel Defoe's A Journal of the Plague Year is pretty much like what's happening now, except I am the one wandering around an abandoned city. Fortunately, COVID-19 is not the bubonic plague.
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