I am so sick and tired of the word unprecedented. Who would have known that when history arrived, it would look like this, take this shape, coagulate into this slimy, stale form. Who would have known that the war of our generation would have come so quietly to arrest us like this. Here we are, facing down the invisible enemy; it has arrived, we are tense, our backs ache, yet we cannot move.
Here we are, waiting, waiting, locked in this neverending game of chicken.