This story is not unique to me. I was working in a small restaurant near my apartment in Brooklyn last month before the metaphorical storm hit. We could feel the closure coming from a week away, even if the crowds didn’t dwindle until Saturday night. So it felt almost cathartic when it finally happened, and Governor Cuomo’s mandate made the decision for us. Or maybe it was the open wine we had to finish that night that felt cathartic. Either way, when my coworkers and I joined the legions of unemployed and ate our last family meal together, nursing hangovers, there was a fragile feeling in the air that was familial, surreal, and deeply kind.