Our crack team of writers had a beauty of an entry queued up and ready to offend. But as I sat in front of my keyboard, single malt scotch in hand and a finger poised to press “publish,” the words of Killer Mike came to me.
“We must be better than this moment.”
Second thoughts rarely interfere with my decisions, but our latest satirical hot take hovered there like a limp, sinking balloon, dragged down by two images that were on my screen.
One, the facade of the White House, looking like a home on Halloween night where the owners had forgotten to buy candy, switched off the lights and sat in the dark hoping no one would notice that all the cars were in the driveway.
Two, Tweets from a friend who was clubbed by a NYC cop (covered badge number and body cam, per union regs) for failing to walk faster than the crowd in front of her, during a non-violent protest.
So today, Pandemic Journal is going to sit down, shut up and let Killer Mike do the talking.
I pray that everyone chooses to be better than this moment.