London — As lockdown dragged, I became desperate for human interaction. I sought it out in supermarket queues, checking out passers-by in parks, hoping to see a familiar face. If I got lucky, I’d stop them for a chat, returning home overstimulated with news from someone I barely knew. “Guess what,” I would report, buzzing. “Thingummy scored yeast via Nextdoor!”

Privileged to work from home, my world became tiny and, as the weeks wore on, my social needs expanded. I dreamt of necking a bottle of wine with someone — anyone. The only requirement was that we didn’t live together. On my government-mandated walks, I would listen to house music, imagining myself hundreds of bodies deep into a dance floor, inhaling air thick with sweat. Even though pre-lockdown I would choose Netflix over nightclubs.

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