For the longest time it felt wrong to be out without a mask. Everywhere, from shops to lecture halls, breath was too tangible, and all those mouths offered too much information. There was too much depth, and no one was on mute any more. Aeroplanes were the worst: tubes packed with faces, hanging where humans have no business to be. And then it was fine. The new normal became just normal, and everyone’s mouths just disappeared back into the empire of the unnoticed. I carried a mask for a while, just in case, but at some point – I can’t remember precisely when – I left it at home, and now when I come across one in a drawer, it’s like glimpsing a shipwreck through a glass-bottomed boat. Some days now when I go out, I don’t even take the lower part of my face. It’s not like anyone needs to see it, and it’s not like I’ve anything to say – just pleasantries which have largely fallen out of fashion, and inarticulate pleas for help which would only make others feel uncomfortable.
Oz Hardwick
Picture Nick Victor