The horizontal lines of the window divide the space into sections along which speed flows. They resemble traces of light on a long exposure - as if the movement itself had left strokes on the glass. Behind the glass, in the depths of the train or in the glare of the reflection, are two women's faces. Their features are indistinct, blurred - but distinguishable enough to feel a presence. The faces are almost uniformly blue, as if painted by the cold light of a screen or a street lamp. They do not look at us, but through us-or away from us at all-but we feel their gaze. The composition is constructed in such a way that these faces are not central, but unforgettable. They flash and disappear. It's a moment of intersection: you're on one train, they're on another. Passed by. Never again. The whole scene is devoid of rigidity: there is no sharpness, no detail. Just movement, flow and a sense of something almost seen. It is an image of memory, not a photograph. Everything is painted in soft shades of blue and gray, with glimmers of light - yellow, white, perhaps pink - where there is metal or