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It is the year 2042. So many people now work from home, a movement has started to deliberately reconnect ourselves in "neighborhood offices." For a small fee, subsidized or paid entirely by the homeowner's association dues, you can get a desk at an office building within a few blocks of your house, next to all your neighbors doing their own thing. Offices share a communal phone rep, cafeteria, Christmas parties, and corporate team-building exercises that everyone still hates but somehow we do them anyway. People choose where to buy a house with at least as much of an eye toward the neighborhood office as the neighborhood school. The most progressive areas have begun combining the two spaces, with some even mixing in the neighborhood nursing home.
2067: Undiluted tribalism has been embraced once again. Skirmishes have broken out between rival neighborhood offices. Dirk the Accountant has proven a shrewd tactics commander, while Shelly the writer and Betsy the railroad-car-tracker have teamed up to sabotage their opponents' water supply. It is a grim age.
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