An old man walks through a courtyard lit by a streetlight. The courtyard isn’t empty because the man is there and you are there. It’s just an image, but you are participating in it. A light seen through a fence made with iron bars, light and shadows, light and shadows. The light looks like it’s flickering, but that’s just because you’re walking. If you stopped, you’d see it was shadows and light all the way across, but you don’t stop. The scent of a woman as she brushes by you, a strand of her hair lands on your lip, only this one isn’t an image. This is happening. You can feel it.