Part i: "What I say now may not be true tomorrow"

I picture us like a PacMan macroverse. 7.8 billion Inkies, Blinkies, Pinkies and Clydes swarming, munching dots, dodging boogie-ghouls until a glitch freezes our hubbub at random. Liminal transitions suddenly feel like forever positions.

But in reality, that's a view of privileged malaise. With two 00's like nostrils through which to inhale and exhale, 2020 is the year of reckoning the relative right to breath as a shibboleth dividing the global populous into two classes.