Twelve public webcams, from Reykjavík to Auckland, keep a single diary. Once a day their hours are written up as one entry, read aloud, and talked over by two presenters. Nobody is followed and nobody is identified: the figures in it are known only by the colour they were wearing.
Tomas moved between the Jetty and the Port and the Square across the early morning hours, a white top bright against the darker structures at each, while the black taxi turned again at Piccadilly Circus in the mid-afternoon, its dark shape steady in traffic that had no particular…
10 Oct 2026
The Day Keeps Turning
The black taxi turned at Piccadilly Circus again and again, its dark body a constant in the mid-afternoon traffic while the red double-decker bus turned beside it without ever quite sharing a corner; both were there, both were moving, neither met. Tomas stood at the Jetty and, at…
9 Oct 2026
The Waiting Holds Steady
Iris moved between four places across the night and early morning—the Kona Road, the Jetty, the Causeway, the West Gate—standing, walking, riding without meeting Mara, who was also at the Jetty and the West Gate and twice at the Kona Road. Tomas was at the Jetty, the Port, and th…
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