MY FRIEND THOMAS’ INVITATION to join him on an April turkey hunt in Texas sounded almost like an apology. “Hey, man,” he said, “I know turkey isn’t your thing, and I understand if you don’t want to go. You’d have to fly to Little Rock, and then we’d drive 500 miles to the eastern Panhandle.” He added that the outfitter charges $1,200 for three days and lets you shoot only two birds instead of the state’s limit of four. “But he’s got a pile of birds and I’ve been going for forever and I just thought I’d ask.”
“Where do I send the check?” I said.
To understand this moment, you need to know that thanks to COVID-19, I’d hardly left the house for 14 months. During that time, I’d taken to verbalizing my internal debates about the day’s most important activity—what to stream on Netflix— and it was starting to get ugly. One side was getting increasingly passive-aggressive. “No, let’s watch what you want, since opinion counts for nothing.” It was only a matter of time before the other side started throwing punches.