If you haven’t heard by now, Oklahoma is officially open. As fighter jets soar in the skies above to remind us of our check-cashing freedoms, in this mostly lost year of 2020, the names of bargain barber shops and half-price appetizers ring across the fields of waved-out wheat, where we have decided as a state that the curve is flattened enough to fully return to our old lives of oil and gas, sin and debauchery.
The golden calf of commercialism shall rise again and save our very souls!
As we come out of our maintained hovels to face this brave-ish new world of a disease-less Oklahoma City where citizens walk freely without facemasks, standing close to anyone they damn well please, sniffling and sneezing within close proximity because fuck you, snowflake, there’s something about the past couple of months that will always be a constant reminder of this time for us: the rampant medical waste.
On any given street and every useable sidewalk, from the most-traversed parking lots to the least-adored playgrounds, the sheer amount of used latex gloves and face-masks—many probably still contaminated with germs—will decorate morning walks and evening runs in our neighborhoods and main thoroughfares for quite a sickly while.