Like ants.
Like ants, your friend said, we go out of our houses, fetch food, and then rush back to them, haunted by fear.
Security men sweep the rest of the passers-by from the roads: "O ants, enter your dwellings."
The epidemic does not smile when they say laughing.
And Corona sends its soldiers chasing ants in the streets
The streets you were familiar with are no longer familiar, as if Jean touched them from the fire while you were sleeping, so they are no longer as you used to be familiar and pledge
The sidewalks are now hostile to you, their stones are inhabited by what you do not see and do not know, but you know for sure that they are haunted by what awaits you
There's a hidden death lurking in your footsteps on the sidewalks.
It is as if those you see around you, dragging their footsteps over the sidewalk, surrendering to their fates, blindfolded and walking to their cemeteries.