Staggering around the Old Baltimore on a foggy afternoon, making frequent stops to take a swig from a flask filled with coffee and spiced rum, I turned a corner and as a wisp of wind blew away the fog, suddenly found myself standing in front of what appeared to be a bow of an old battleship, weathered and scarred, but defiantly struggling to cut it’s way through the concrete of the pavement. The angle of the building, the positions of the streetlights were so perfect, that all I had to do was to focus the camera and commit the vision to film.

The absence of the people around, the silence brought down upon the streets by the fog, made me feel that the encounter occurred not in the middle of the summer’s day but in a fleeting moment of the twilight, the elusive state between the reality and a dream.