A short poem in black and white, in tones and shades, something secretive, something dark and sad lies within. It is filmed from inside a moving vehicle but in the very movement itself lies the
stationary, the brief moment, the life of a fragment. The scenes are out of focus, dirty, sometimes mirrored in the windscreen. Our memories are notlinear. A mosaic of sounds, pictures, impressions.
What is hiding behind the faces of the people who glance in our direction as we pass by?