In light of current escalations, we’re building shelters and stocking up on canned goods: vegetables, legumes, and those processed meats we’d forgotten even existed. We’re ironing our masks again, like it’s 2020: not because they’ll do any good, but just to feel the familiar sense of comfort in catastrophe. It’s the same with hand sanitiser. Mostly, though, we’re painting our windows white, and the hardware stores are packed with families picking out the perfect shade for the apocalypse, straining their eyes as they compare cards with flashes on two-litre cans, pondering the fine distinctions between Au Lait, Off-White, and Clunch. The check-outs are rammed, and the kids are getting restless, eager to be out in the daylight, fighting and falling in love, working hard and playing hard, and dying a natural death. But first we need to cover our heads with our hands and draw our elbows down to our knees. Drop Out? we mouth, West Coast Ghost? The lights go out to the sound of canned laughter.
.
Oz Hardwick
Picture Nick Victor
.