Panic at the Pandemic/ American Rust Company

In the land of tee-totalers, sugar is king - within the city of salt lies confectionary concoctions made by judicious soda jerks, the sweetest treats on the hallowed grounds at the intersection of teenagerdom and nostalgia. Flash-forward through a Cold War more frigid than the local ice cream sundae and wars in the East hotter than the fudge poured from agèd jars to find a world at stand-still. Life in the time of corona is a brain-freeze, a cotton candy stickiness melding restless inactivity with a longing for the hidden comfort of the roving crowds in the streets. Familiar places have grown empty and familiar faces have long gone unseen by friendly eyes. All those memories of long summer days and sweet late-night treats have faded into an endless dusk of constant worry and unrest. Our local communities are dead, long live our local communities