I am a little figure on a big green map.

I’m wearing an orange jacket and a luchador-style wrestling mask with pointy ears, the outfit of my avatar in Pokémon Go, the augmented-reality smartphone game in which you catch, collect and evolve tiny monsters for points and prestige.

All around me, stretching to the horizon, there are no-go zones. The grocery store I should avoid because of social distancing. The playground where parents are being advised not to let their toddlers touch the equipment. The city park where Brooklynites craving fresh air have been coming too close for comfort.

My avatar radiates a small circle around it, denoting the distance at which you can activate in-game features. (Suddenly, the concept of having a circle radiating from your person — six feet to be precise — is universal, and a lot less whimsical.) The figure stands on a single, long rectangle, the house I live in. And that, pretty much, is where I stay.

If you’ve ever played Pokémon Go, you know the problem here. Unlike so many video games, this one was designed to get you off your couch, make you move and bring you into the world. If you want to advance and find rarities, you need to wander and explore. To get the balls, potions and eggs you need (I could go into detail; I won’t), you visit “Pokéstop” stations and “gyms” placed at local landmarks.