It was starting to be a sick habit of mine nowadays: sitting in my darkened apartment, scrolling through Twitter, wading through hashtags and halting at a video.

I wasn’t here for the comments, the memes. I wasn’t even for the entitlement the Karen in the video displayed. She was just as unremarkable as the rest: she was clearly vying for an even tan, but had ended up with a sunburnt splotch over khaki-colored skin; a shirt that was maybe from a Target; shorts that revealed thin and surprisingly pale legs and sandals. Still, I don’t think I had seen a face look that red.

Didn’t turn on the sound. What would I hear?Maybe if this was in a gas station I might’ve hit the speaker icon; maybe there would’ve been a fight. Sadly, Karens barked more in Whole Foods.

Still. I could imagine what was said: “My rights, my rights!” But ooooh, if only this bitch knew. If only she could *see* it.

But, still; she raged.

And, still; I watched.

Googling coronavirus to see it on a molecular level made it look almost pretty. Like one of those rubber stress balls with the fringe you could peel. But from Karen’s mouth, it was a plume of almost smoke. And like the other videos I had watched, it rose into the air slowly, like it was heavy with its own pollution... She yelled and out came more, a mushroom cloud that didn’t know how to be, wrapping around her ears and neck. It was like a shawl like no other; spit flecked her shirt.

Still, it didn’t hide the wild, unjustifiably outraged look to her eyes and the stained corners of her mouth.

It was a relief to see the masked Whole Foods workers with blue gloves and jungle print shirts crowd around her. They were kinda like thunderbirds beating their wings to rid the air of the Karen’s plague.

‘If only, if only,’ I thought as my eyes trailed to my blinds. But it seemed like the clouds were here to stay.