In this "new normal" of our brave new world, dining out had all the perks of before—tables, chairs, napkins—but with the added refinements of asphalt flooring, dank concrete ambiance, and the smell of carbon monoxide exhaust fumes. Perfect for a family outing. 
Just when she thought the "new normal" couldn't get worse, it got better. Gone were the masks, the face shields, the bandannas. In their place was a simple dog cone. It was so much more comfortable. The only downside was that she couldn't lick her own ass anymore.
The air inside the small plastic enclosures was stifling. It smelled strongly of Yellow Number Two and baby powder-covered sweat. The math problems jumped around on the page. At least the mask hides most of my crying, he thought, glancing at the clock. It seemed to tick backward.
Gone were the rows of seating. Gone was the mosh pit, the roped off section just below the stage the groupies used to press against. Now the groupies were assigned to separate enclosures. They sat, like pens of cattle, waiting for the auction to begin.
In the "new normal" of our brave new world, citizens are quick to demand all individuals have the right to believe and act exactly as they are told they should. Anyone who violates that right will be assimilated.
Stay in your squares. Do not leave the boundaries. Do not sit or lay down. Do not remove your masks and face shields. Anyone who violates these orders must report to the table in the rear of the classroom for reeducation.
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