A rental tag, a two-day window, and a photograph that will outlive both.
The fuselage rents by the hour. The flight never happens.
What an audience costs, and who is awake at 3am building one.
Nobody is ambushed at that angle, in that light, by accident.
The slider moves before anyone sees the face.
The part of the contract that decides what you are allowed to notice.
The gift that arrives with an expectation and leaves without a label.
The backdrop that can be anywhere, waiting in a room that is nowhere.
The apparatus is the subject. The operator never is.