The dreams begin a week into quarantine. A flight to Shanghai leaves without me while I run around a terminal of inscrutable gate agents. Gladiators spar in the Colosseum, while a grad-school professor and I watch silently from the shade. The dreams are pulsing with life, but when I wake up in my Brooklyn apartment, on day seven, day nine, day 47 of lockdown, I’m not quite sure where I am.
Read the rest of Elizabeth’s article in Vogue magazine.