I walked out of my office a year ago, on March 11, 2020. Last week, for the first time, I went back.
It was ghostly. My glasses were still sitting by the phone, and a legal pad was open, as if I had just stepped out for lunch. A cup, now dry, and that day's newspaper still sat on the desk, as if, like Miss Havisham's wedding feast, time had been intentionally stopped.
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