Sensitive Creatures has been assembled from contributions to journals dating as far back as 2002. You can tell: stories betray their recency through advances in Ord’s style. As a rule, new stories are more finely drawn, while older stories are blocky, full of energy and brass. In Ord’s early work, characters are crude, prone to act rudely. It is here that Ord developed her vocabulary of physical forms. She is a modern master of the ‘expressive hunch’, which might convey threat, curiosity, or thought.

Disappointingly, the title of each story is printed at the bottom of the page, generally repeating words that have already been drawn. Otherwise, it has sharp production; the glossy stock is perfect for Ord’s thick inks.

In a compilation this diverse, sequencing is crucial, and Ord has displayed finesse in juxtaposing work. Just when you have become used to a particular comedic set-up – Ord commits a social faux pas; the reaction shocks – the next story is pacier, with identical comedic beats set up and then subverted. In these odder, longer stories, the dialogue is pedestrian, full of thank yous and OKs. But really, these words are purposed towards a meticulous investigation of the results of glancing human contact.

At one point, Ord comments that she loves ‘the rhythm of the everyday’. But the book is also drenched in Melbourne – obsessed with transport and bins, the urban guts – and is as much a chronicle of the city itself.