— where the street becomes a breath, not a stage.

I watch, I wait, I listen —

A young boy with curly hair, wearing a yellow shirt and patterned shorts, reaching up to a wall-mounted telephone on a teal building while holding a milk bottle. A shirtless man in cargo pants and slippers is descending stairs, carrying a bucket in one hand and holding something in the other. Shadow of a street lamp and a plant are cast on the wall.