If we’re lucky enough, there’s still tomorrow; another chance to find ourselves in lusher circumstances, free from collective-preferences, in which todays cries against ‘counter’ interests cease… (Or better yet, realign with diversity and crescendo into deep-belly yells of celebration!)

In lieu of any physical qualities, Grace might be best recognised by their submerged, dark humour – calibrated to sublimate firm, stuffy ideals that can epistemic and ontological fulfilment – and a piggish appetite for further reading. Sincerely empathetic too mind, but not without end, conscious as they are of the cautionary tales of Justine and Juliette.

Then, to further see Grace, the creeping paranoia that both twists and drives their usually-placid disposition is as good a place as any to look:

They identify with concerns of a cultural malaise and believe the emancipation of society (us) from its (our own) stupor is the crucial antidote; a campaign, in their mind at least, almost entirely reliant on the ceaseless exchange of authentic moments between friends and strangers alike. Highbrow, lowbrow, no-brow… no matter.

Grace isn’t a master in any one particular field and doesn’t overreach to become one. Instead, their compulsion is of a different kind altogether, centring on an insatiable desire to know the awkward feeling of ‘coming home, after a long journey, to someone else’s house’.