A voice responds. Prerecorded. "All lines are busy. Please remain on the line for assistance."
You dart from room to room, sneaking glances through slits in window blinds, watching the man spit, cough, smear and breath virus across as many surfaces as he can.
He makes his way back to the front door, weary. You peer back into the peephole.
"Just leave," you plead.
He shakes his head. "Imagine I'll be checking on your neighbors, see if they're feeling more hospitable. But don't you worry, there's a little bit of me and my friend keeping you nice and snug in your little castle."
He adjusts his clothes and coughs again.
"Can't stay in there forever," he says. "Be seeing you soon."
As he walks away, you wonder how long it will take for the outside of your home to be safe.