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00:00:57 – 00:01:00

Downscreen, closest to us, a little blurry, a string of pearls — or some kind of white bead; they are maybe too squared off to be pearls.

The rest of the floor of the jewelry box (“floor” is the right word — a lacquered wood, showing its age with streaks and cracks) is home to a set of photographs, placed and spaced more symmetrically than is possible inside a box that has been bumping around in the world, as most boxes do. It’s like a magazine layout: photographs, margins between them. It’s like a graphic design. Maybe they are glued to the bottom of the box? In fact, when the gloved hands remove the first photograph (the gloved hands will be picking up three of the photographs, total, in this shot, out of the five we can see), it seems they have to peel it a bit from the surface. It takes two hands. So maybe. But no: the edges of the other photographs curl away from the floor of the box, so they are not likely to have been glued there. And the other photographs come up more quickly, too: flip flip, like cards.

The arrangement of the photographs, that careful layout, implies that this box has been stationary its entire lifetime, or at least ever since the photographs were put inside it.

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