Graffiti as memory. Vespa as witness.

The wall is a palimpsest of names half-erased and declarations no longer heard. A silver scooter idles at the threshold like a sentinel—unmoving, yet present for every moment that passed. RIBES, scrawled high, becomes a cipher: maybe a name, maybe a signal, maybe nothing at all.

This image captures the residue of a city’s anonymous rituals—the marks people leave, the machines that wait, and the silence that endures between them.