Something witnessed by the city.
It passes through our space and a few people might notice it.
If they do they will not know what it is that they see.
A man carrying a standing fan up Ladbroke Grove as though he fronts a procession, bearing the weight of a cross.
People running down pavements with joy, to no clear end, passing and passing a plastic bag that keeps a red mass in.
A cricket filled dusk, and an abandoned plot suddenly becomes the site of a sprint to a fixed, unmarked point. And back. The flash is easily missed,