Surveillance, Sourdough Starter, and Black Flâneurie

It was not the day, nor the year, really, to be a solo stroller suddenly enclosed in a corridor of white noise.

There was an intermittent ringing in my ears when lockdown started. A high, clear note that was only knowable by the ways in which it changed—a flip from stereo to mono; a minute shift in pitch or timbre. It was louder when I lay down, or in the tinny aural hollow after Zoom calls. Sometimes it was the plaintive A of an orchestral tune-up just before th…

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