I
had to admit this week that I may have become desocialised due to the pandemic. The specific moment when I realised this was when a US government representative knocked on my door, lanyard round her neck, mask on her face and clipboard in her hand, and told me that our apartment had been selected for extra census questions.
“Census questions?” I said as I poked my head round the door, unbrushed hair furnishing my face in gravity-defying curls like the mane of a sad lion who’s gone mad in captivity.
“Yes, we’re here to ask if you’ve ever experienced crime in the area,” the census woman replied. “I just have a few extra questions.”
