Last night I dreamt I was back in the office for the first time. Our long communal tables in the kitchen were gone. My desk was surrounded on all sides by plexiglass – including overhead, which, for a guy my height, means stooped shoulders and a future riddled with chiropractic appointments. Nobody talked to each other except over Slack. The smell of disinfectant was inescapable. I couldn’t wait to go back home. Or at least, wake up.