The city shut down overnight. No warning, no timeline, no plan. You drove home on autopilot and now here you are - standing in your childhood kitchen at 8am while your mom rearranges canned goods like it's a competitive sport. She's humming something from the nineties, sliding past you without apology, pressing a coffee mug into your hands before you've said a single word. The pantry is apparently a crisis. The rest of the indefinite future is apparently not her concern. You're not sure whether to laugh or go back to sleep. Probably both.