I’d be lying if I didn’t say how elated, upbeat, genuinely happy I felt Thursday morning walking downtown Seaside’s deserted streets.

I asked Mr. Sax to drop us off in town; the dog and I started on Broadway across the street from the library. It was about 10 a.m. and chilly, although the sun was fully out.

Waiting for the light to change on Broadway at Roosevelt, Keith from the Inverted Experience called out to me from his car.

“We’re working,” I said. He pointed at the dog. “I’m taking pictures. I’m documenting this experience.”

For a little while, I took pictures of signs posted in various store windows. Most of them said “Closed,” but a few places were open. People were venturing out to get coffee from every coffee place open, most of them leggy teenaged girls.

I spoke with a merchant standing in his business’s open door. We talked about the difference in dollars he made this week last year compared to this one. It was a shocking difference. He said his landlord wasn’t one to say, “OK, don’t pay the rent.” He wondered out loud if and when hotels might begin shutting down.

I didn’t have an answer.

Up on the Prom, I saw an artist I interviewed for this newspaper a few years ago. She said she didn’t recognize me in sunglasses. She was also out with her much larger dog and for ten minutes or so we shouted to each other over the roar of some work they were doing outside the WorldMark. I asked about her elder care work and she said everything was canceled and now it’s her job to call all her regulars every day to check in and ask how they’re doing.

How are they doing? I asked.

Good so far, she said. We both wondered how long that could last and the psychological dangers of prolonged social isolation.

We parted and I headed south on the Prom. Around G Street I spoke with a young family from Idaho who have a place here. They said their kids are on spring break and this was their vacation, but they were going back to Idaho early. I asked them how things are going in Idaho and the dad said, “I don’t know, we’ve been here.”

He and I talked a little more about the immediate future and how long his kids might be out of school; we talked how overwhelmed the health care situation could be, and the stress of uncertainty. “I don’t know what we’ll do,” he said, a little sadly. I could see he was a thoughtful person. I told him to take care of his beautiful family and enjoy the amazing day.

Almost immediately afterward I ran into Mike, my visually impaired friend. Mike has a little dog that likes my little dog and he’s a wonderful conversationalist. He’s got a great sense of humor and is always upbeat and told me thanks to the stellar weather we’ve been having and all his walking, he’s happy to have lost weight. We congratulated each other for our expertise maintaining social distance.

By now it was 11 o’clock and more people were coming outdoors. They weren’t coming in droves, but there were definitely people. People were bike riding, and walking dogs, and there were people on the prom benches taking in sun. Everyone except for a 60-something couple hugging each other and their dog, everyone practiced social distancing. I figured the old couple must be married, and sharing everything anyway.

As the dog sniffed and poked her way along, I thought about the couple hugging on the bench and wondered about the future of touching. I thought how it might become rare to see people touching in public, or even in close proximity. I wondered if post-coronavirus people would devise new ways to greet and separate from one another. Moving forward, there would be less handshaking, fewer hugs. It could be the end of the “Let me just give you a big ol’ hug” era, which will upset a lot of people.

Nearly home, I took in the steadily filling parking lot where Avenue U meets the Prom. I saw a few people in the dunes, heading to the beach. I thought how I’d walk a little further to the Cove to watch surfers surfing. I thought how lucky I was to be walking on a Thursday morning in late March in Seaside. The sun rose higher in the sky, sparkling on calm ocean waters.