It has been eight months of working from home. You have just started to see outside the windows that were previously blocked by piles of toilet paper and supplies. You didn’t get COVID-19, but you have also forgotten how to speak. Your skin is pale and you have been wearing the same two tracksuits for months. The phone rings and you slowly raise your head from the couch cushion. It is your boss. You have to return to the office on Monday. None of your clothes fit you anymore.

You brush some chip crumbs off your chest and contemplate the pile of supplies. "What would make a better dress pant: black licorice or toilet paper?" You fetch your sewing supplies and get to work.

The End