A red door larger than the house entire, slightly ajar; hand upon the door, a corridor not attached to the frame. Interior. You enter the house but as an actor. Before you in the grey corridor three brass picture frames. You hear a thumping above. The ceiling bends in, elastic, you turn to a mirror — it windows, orange wallpaper, wood-floor under track lighting. A dune collapses from a cinema screen on which plays Nathan’s child. Fine hair streaks out with wild laughter. The incline runs to golden water, surf at a receding fifteen degrees; a fine interplay of sensations as the frame becomes a mirror. The stranger pictured there looks back toward camera, camera looks down a corridor disappearing in red doors ajar. Camera swings back, the stranger stands further down transfixed before another frame — the film slips a spool, chukkachukkachukka-chuk-chuk-chuk … cinema canvas. Scratching behind it.