by Dan Cohen
First COVID made my semi-retirement permanent. Then the lease on my Washington Heights apartment--within a building populated entirely by extremely COVID-averse retired school teachers--expired. Which was also when I inherited a tidy windfall from the will of my recently expired uncle. I could read the lips of Fate even under the mask, and she was telling me to get the hell out of Gotham.
Which is how, in September, I found myself on a plane to Costa Rica, destination unknown, return date indefinite.
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