Took a long Sunday stroll through Downtown, amid sunny skies, 77-degree temps ... and barely a soul in sight.
Not high, not low ...
[caption id="attachment_973171" align="aligncenter" width="640"]
A desolate Downtown, yesterday. - DEJAN KOVACEVIC / DKPS[/caption]
... and the few I did spot were safely separated, straying to opposite ends of a sidewalk or even out into the middle of a strikingly silent street to avoid any semblance of human interaction. A couple of walkers wore masks. One along Sixth Street buried her mouth into her elbow with each passerby.
That's life now, isn't it?
We're told to stay inside, to steer clear of everyone else when we don't, to be prudent and patient, to encourage others to do likewise ... and we've legitimately got no idea when it'll end. Even among the busiest of us, our calendars have gone completely blank.
Except for this: Exactly 25 days from today, April 23, at a couple ticks past 8 p.m., Roger Goodell will speak the six most predictable words in all of professional sports: The Bengals are on the clock.
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