The workers lazily amble back from lunch.
It’s Sunday for us, work day for them.
Do they ever get a day off?
The corrugated, graffiti’d walls tower over the sidewalk, masking the monstrous new edifice on its way to our hood. Stretching for hundreds of meters, the block is blocked from view.
Except for the entrance gate.
Uniformly attired in green jackets, jeans crusted and browned with dried soil. Every worker with a hard hat. Drones, funneling into the hive, toothpaste squeezing back in tube.
The woman who wanders past has her helmet perched higher. It wobbles, more accessory than safety.
Why is it so high?
She must have a bun up there
Why is there such a queue?
The foreman, checking returnees with a digital thermometer (touch- free, natch). One by one, they make their way to the gate. A couple seconds to pause, they pass.
No fevers here, yet.
It’s an unusual measure. And an unusual measure. I don’t imagine this is standard workplace procedure.
But here we are, in place and time.