Foreground: The splash splattered sun against the hazed glass. The screen a grid of wire, if you move close enough it dissapears. Paint chipping, mummified insects sleeping in the eternal breeze. The glass is streaked, layers of windows
Middle-ground: A servery worker wanders to and fro, pacing back and forth. The grills are out and open and the cooks are joking, There is a sad routine to it all. Trees, and island.
Far-ground: Mountains — a universe of ____, the rest of the world — outside the filmy shell of our bubble.
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