WITH 9 MORE DAYS OF SHELTER IN PLACE, WILL WE MAKE IT?

Special to El Rrun-Rrun

Andres woke up in the morning and made his way to the bathroom and first saw him in the mirror.

"Oh, fuck, dude," he said frustrated. "How did you know I wanted to use the head?"

"Well, excuse me," the other replied. "Do I have to ask your permission to take a piss?"

"Don't look at me like that, man," said Andres. "What the fuck?"

"Look at you like what, asshole?" "I wasn't even looking at you. You're fucking paranoid."

"Shut the fuck up," Andres said as he went in the door. "It's getting to the point where I can't even fucking think without having you looking over my shoulder. It's getting a little tired."

He looked outside his window at an empty downtown. Not even the homeless were in sight. The last time he went outside to stretch his legs, he felt like he was in a ghost town. Grudgingly, he had returned to this hell. He had gone through his books and the news on CNN was the same. Virus this, virus that.

"Well, excuse me," the other answered. "Now I bother you thinking? You're going off the deep end, dude. Look for some help. That's your fucking problem Andres, you think too much and thinking is not your forte."

"Y tu si, guey? Quien crees que eres tu, Einstein? Do you even know who the fuck that is?," Andres retorted. "All you know about is birongas y viejas. What do you know about science?"

"Hey, I have your pinche science hanging," was the mocking response.

"Fuck you and the horse that brung you, man," Andres yelled from the pot. "Ever hear of privacy? I used to have it before. But now with you around, chingao!"

"Just do your shit and spare me the details," he heard from outside.

He stood up and sighed disgusted. "This motherfucker...," he thought and washed his hands. I can hardly wait for the weekend to get away from this cabron, he thought.

Then he realized that one day was the same as all the others. Blue Monday was the same as Taco Tuesday, and Hump Day was the same as Thursday, TGIF, etc.

"Fuck you, man. Let's see what we have in the fridge for breakfast," Andres said ambling over to the kitchen. "Maybe some bacon and egg tacos with frijolitos 'pa amarrar."

"Otra vez con tus pinches frijoles, bro? Beans, bens, beans. You fry them, boil them, smear them on pinche corn tortillas, make them with cueritos, shit I bet if you could make them in an omelette you would, too. Que asco!"

"Look mothefucker, if you want to eat something else cook it yourself. I ain't your pinche maid, Andres almost yelled. "Why don't you go to a restaurant?," he said before realizing they were all closed, as were all the bars. "Entonces que chingaos quieres comer?"

About halfway through the phrase, he heard his voice and snapped. Damn, he realized he had been talking to himself, again.

"This shelter in place sucks," he thought to himself. ""Compared to this, the virus might not be too bad. Get the shit over once and for all. Cabin fever, my ass. This is worse. Before you know it all of us are going to go schizo..."

"Speak for yourself," butted in the other.