Thoughts during the apocalypse, Part Four.

The view of the Outside World from inside my Fortress of Solitude.

I'm looking out over the pond that abuts my back yard, and there are 12 cars parked in the parking lot of the small park on the other shoreline. And there are people walking all around the pond's edge and in the park.

Oh, yeah. There's an emergency, all right. Except that most everyone I've seen is treating it like an extended vacation. There may be some "social distancing" going on, but from here, that looks like a farce. 

Admittedly, I've gone out for a few rides during this pandemic panic. I just got home a few minutes ago from a ride looking for coffee, and I was unsuccessful. The line at the Starbucks at Forbes Boulevard in Foxboro wrapped fully around the building, which also includes a Moe's Southwest Grill. So I hotfooted it to Plainville and the new Starbucks at the intersection of US 1 and Mass. Route 152, only to find it closed entirely.

So, to avoid making it a total waste of a trip, I stopped at the Shell station at 152 and 106 and filled up the Beetle for $1.97.9, the first time in at least five years that I can remember the price dipping below $2 a gallon locally. (An aside: I have a box full of surgical gloves at home and used two to operate the gas pump. Someone told me that people are getting the virus when they fill up. Probably nonsense, but better safe than sorry.)

Of course, I won't be driving that much and will probably be able to stretch this tank to May, at which time I expect the price to be closer to $3-4 a gallon as Trump will allow his buddies in the oil industry to make up their losses.

And even upon my return to familiar territory, the Foxboro 'Bux still had a full circle of cars waiting for coffee -- including the two that pulled into the line just ahead of me. So I called an audible and decided that a large Diet Dr Pepper Cherry from the local Wendy's would have to suffice for my caffeine fix until I make a pot later tonight during the second episode of "Westworld."

And with that, I segue into a few other random thoughts along the apocalyptic course ...

Tom Brady waves farewell.

** So the Patriots have re-signed Brian Hoyer in the wake of Tom Brady's departure. Well, whoop-tee-doo.

I understand the idea that Hoyer is a veteran who is well-versed in the Patriots' offensive system, and that he will be the low-cost support mechanism for second-year veteran Jarrett Stidham as he is groomed to take over as the starter. At least that should be the only role for Hoyer, because every time he has had the opportunity to prove whether he can execute those plays on the field, he has failed miserably.

I've said it before and I'll say it again. It's time to roll the dice on Stidham. It should have been Jimmy Garoppolo a few years ago, in fact, but the time has come for Bill Belichick to make a full commitment to the youngster-in-waiting rather than even remotely considering Hoyer as anything but the harbinger of a 5-11 season should he become the starter.

** Temperature was 97.6 upon waking. No symptoms. No coughs upon holding my breath for 60.8 seconds. The usual aches and pains. It's now been seven days since the last time I was in a large group of people in a confined space.

** Drove by at least three houses where lots of cars were parked and parties were going on outside. They just don't get it, do they? But that should come as no surprise, as we're hearing stories now of how college students that partied en masse on the beaches of Florida last week are now testing positive for the coronavirus. 

** First-World Problems: How frustrating is it when the light bulb in your refrigerator burns out, and it's in the socket so tightly that you're afraid to grip it with any force lest it shatter in your hand?

** People that own VW Beetles (the newest ones) know that they have two glove compartments, a large one and a smaller one built into the retro-look dashboard. And it's in that smaller one where I found another bottle of hand sanitizer that I apparently bought a few months ago and forgot all about. So I was accidentally hoarding all along.

** Don't you just hate it when you're watching a movie or TV show set before 1959 and the American flags that appear in various scenes have 50 stars? I, of course, was born in a country that had 48 states at the time. And there was actually a 49-star flag that was issued briefly between Alaska's entry into the Union and Hawaii.

** Time to start writing a script for another episode of The Owner's Box, so I'll see you along the road to Perdition again tomorrow.