‘Who is she? Who is she?’, murmured the suspicious neighbors leaning out of their windows. They covered their gray faces with thick curtains eaten away by time and stared with their half-closed eyes the firm path of the new tenant.

Introducing the new and suspicious neighbor.

The neighbor looking stoic wearing Daywearlab Newyork.

It is rather cloudy in the neighborhood and the wind is blowing hard. She walks confidently and wears a light trench coat that reveals the force of the blizzard with every step she takes. The neighbor from the second floor calls her husband almost in ecstasy, she waves with her hands disproportionately and although she does not raise her voice, her behavior shows a strange urgency. Both appear discreetly in scene with the fear of being caught.
From the building across the street, a retired old man, holds a cigarette in his hand and a yellow hardcover edition of The Great Gatsby with a notch on page 107. He gets distracted from his reading and leans out attracted by the unusual atmosphere. The old man lives in the fifth floor of one of those white, aristocratic-looking buildings. From his triple large window, he recognizes the miniature of what it looks like a stoic woman walking the streets.

The neighbor looking for someone.

There is a strange atmosphere in the neighborhood. 

The neighborhood.

‘Who is she? Who is she? ”The neighbors whisper, joining more and more windows as that mysterious character continues her journey. She moves erect, slender and gazes at her reflection in a small puddle. Not even the wind that has begun to whip with greater virulence seems to be able to cut the firmness of her steps. ‘Where is she going? Where?’
My father comes out of the kitchen lost in his thoughts as he was part of a sudden trance. I watch him sitting from the couch and poorly try to grab his arm. “Don’t look out!” I beg him in a restrained cry as if someone could hear us. My father ignores my pathetic plea and with his eyes set in the cold gray concrete, he also asks “Who is she?”

‘I know who she is. I know who she is.’ I whispered to myself so nervously that my clumsy tongue got stuck on the last words.

What a windy day for her to come.

Is this her new house?

The neighbor wearing Daywearlab New York on the street.

A couple of minutes pass in absolute silence. The tension expands with each of my breaths. My father stands by the side of the window sill without making any movements, his stillness is such that I cannot avoid the dark tingling that starts down the spine at the bottom of my back.
On all fours, brushing my bare knees against the cold floor, I slide down to my father’s legs. I pull several times at his pants and at the precise moment when my father looks at his feet, it weirdly reminds me of a smaller version of myself. That connection lasts a few seconds and his eyes return to the outskirts of our house. A couple of minutes go by with my fingers clenched gripping the rough fabric of my father’s suit pants.

The main neighborhood street.

Which one is your window?

Seems like the neighbor has found you.

I know who she is. The time gets heavy, dense and sticky against my skin, already bathed in tiny droplets of icy sweat. I tell myself that woman must have followed her path. I get up slowly with, shaky and breathless. The cementitious window sill begins to unprotect me. My sight finds her there, standing in the middle of the road, like an automaton robot. Her mathematical straightness breaks and in a slow turn her head looks for my window. Before I can run away, her eyes find me.

Photography & words Penélope Blas Art direction & styling Noelia Blas

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