Getting back to finishing this up. Not quite there yet, but I will be.
“So we should take the house with us!” said Jack (or Jill). “Your dad left us that RV in his will, and it was all fixed up before the plague. Our apartment is small, and the rent is too high. We should end our lease, and drive wherever we like and still be under isolation.”
“We would have to get rid of things,” Jill (or Jack) pointed out. “We have too many things for a RV.”
“The Internet says we already have too many things, Jill (or Jack). We should get rid of some of them anyway.”
Did they have too many things? Perhaps. But Jack and Jill also did not have some things that might have held them back. They had no home-place of their own to hold and protect; even before the plague, they only knew their neighbors as friendly nods and doors held open. Their comrades were scattered across the wide world, with the easy bonds of past adventures and old, shared troubles. Their parents had all passed, and both Jack and Jill had had the private, shameful thought that at least none of them had lived to see the plague.
And, of course, they had no children. No sane man or woman would go wandering in an RV with children in tow.