3-0 series 1
seen from T1
seen from United States

seen from T1
seen from France
seen from United Kingdom

seen from Türkiye
seen from T1

seen from T1

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye

seen from Canada
seen from China
seen from China

seen from Türkiye

seen from Türkiye

seen from T1
seen from Germany
seen from China
seen from United States
3-0 series 1
Water // Fred Leebron
She touches his hair by the river.
I am in our apartment, working. Her hand moves down his back.
I empty the trash and unclog the kitchen sink. His former girlfriends have turned into lesbians.
I take the key to his apartment, which he gave me so I could water his plants during the summer. He bends his kissing face to hers.
I walk over to his apartment, just two blocks away. Their legs dangle in the river.
I unlock the door and bolt it behind me. The room smells of feet and stale ashtrays. In the kitchen is a gas stove. I turn it on without lighting it.
Down by the river is a flock of geese, which they admire while holding hands. Soon he will take her back to his apartment. Soon they will lie there, readying cigarettes.
I relock the apartment and slip into the street. The air smells of autumn, burnt. In the sky, birds are leading each other south.
I know there is nothing left between us, that she looks at me each morning as if I were interrupting her life.