I woke up in the middle of the night to four successive staccato cell phone surges, alerts about COVID-19. In the light of my phone, I also saw a Gmail notification previewing a response from a literary journal on a story I had submitted. It was obvious from the preview that the message was a rejection. The fine journal I submitted to advertises on its website that they will spend to submissions of prose in fewer than 30 days, and if the piece is held for 30 days, it means the editors and staff are interested. I received my form rejection after seven days. I believe in the story that I sent. This story has been rejected now six times. This story will find a home. In the meantime, I'll keep collecting the rejections. 88 more rejections to go to until the New Year.