It was New Year’s 2019, and I toasted to 2020 like it owed me something. Every year begins with hope, but this felt different. The 2010s were finished, and I was ready for optimism in this new decade. 2020 was fun to say, there were 20/20 vision jokes, and Parasite had just won Best Picture.

That Valentine’s Day, I attended a friend’s lavish house party in Portland’s Goose Hollow neighborhood. A lovely night of champagne, absinthe, satin and lace. That party is now known as my last outing before the covid lockdown, I would soon be sanitizing groceries.