We're anonymous from the waist up. The camera zooms in on our legs: my yellow-white checkered frock, yellow stockings, satin pumps with pig-skin lining. Your grey pants, as straight as it can be, off-white shoes with a brand stamped on the side. The pavement, coated with rust and dust. An abrupt shift in time and space as the lens swing awkwardly to the right, the left, before reaching out for the sky. The clouds, fair, absorb all tears, concrete, glue, form a giant grey patch, the edges smudged, dissipate and reappear. This is not the hyper-real, not a roadside picnic, not the paranoid's reality constructed out of lines and spirals. This is the sky in its full might, the earth that we bury our toes in. Here, we sit side by side, uncertain, still children.