In our brave new world, human contact is shunned. Humans must grow up learning to fear the touch of another human's skin, keeping everyone at a distance of a double arm's length for fear of contamination from any foreign virus, disease, filth, bile, or compassion. 
All Jim ever wanted to be was an astronaut. It was his lifelong dream. And now, thanks to the kind role players at the local Society for Creative Anachronism, he was one! He hadn't been this excited since teacher had given him the box of 64 crayons to replace the ones he'd eaten!
It had finally happened. She'd talked back to the TSA agent. In this brave new world one couldn't just say what they wanted. One bad word and it was right to the trash bin. Now there was nothing to do but wait for the sanitation crews to arrive and transport them to the landfill.
For as long as they'd live here, Frank wasn't sure they'd ever get used to the stench. Of course, there were interactive maps and apps to tell them where the feces were on the sidewalks, but it wasn't enough. Still the smell lingered. And the nose masks didn't help one bit.
They'd found a positive. He was quarantined and his vehicle incinerated. The twelfth wave had brought the quadruple mutant Mars variant, believed so contagious, social distancing had been increased to six blocks. The positive, of course, would recover quickly from the sniffles.
It had been a mistake to come to this brave new hairdresser. A huge mistake. Lee had expected... well, he wasn't sure what he had expected, but it sure wasn't to be smacked on the back of the head with a paddle for a half an hour straight. His vision was starting to double.
Gertrude was terrified. They'd told her this new hairdresser was eccentric, strange even. All they had said was that the salon was called "Gotham's Finest," and that he wore some sort of weirdly shaped "bat suit." She hadn't expected the constant under-the-breath growling.
In this brave new world, human contact is now absolutely forbidden. As you lay there alone, surrounded by the machines, you grip the inflated latex gloves with your remaining strength, trying to keep the last memories of the touch of skin from slipping away forever.
It is imperative in this time of global cold and flu season, that nurses take every opportunity to study the dance moves critical to their patients' survival. There is simply no time for anything else more trivial.
Some dance moves are so contagious that every precaution that staff cannot leave a single patch of skin exposed to the dancers. Among the other dancers, however, they are not nearly as contagious, and a simple mask will prevent the moves to be passed from one to another.
Margaret didn't approve of her sister's family's new fashion choices, but it was Easter, and she wasn't about to spoil it. They saw each other rarely enough as it was. Still, she couldn't help thinking about pulling the bottom of the plastic closed to watch them struggle for air.
Judd was as protected as he could be with Walmart-grade gear, but as he sat wrapped in the comfort of his own sanctity, he wondered if a gas mask might have better cut the thick stench of cigarette smoke from the man's breath beside him pouring through the layers of protection.
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