A chair by a window, looking onto a courtyard. Gravel, water, a tree finding light between the walls. Two people talking at a table.

The towers are out there somewhere. From here, they do not insist.

Not the city as a whole. Nobody experiences a city as a whole.

The interest was in how the place changes character depending on where you look, and how none of its versions corrects the others.

Close looking first. A counter set for the next pour. A lamp in a quiet room. A window with the afternoon arranged behind it.

Then the frame lifted, and more of the same city came in. Script on a façade. A junction filled with light. Towers above the palms. None of it read as contradiction. It read as depth.