Through the cold, jagged gears of a forgotten mechanism, the fleeting figure of a cyclist appears, distant and detached. The framing feels deliberate, like a window into a life passing by unnoticed, swallowed by the starkness of the world around them. The cyclist moves onward, but there is no sense of purpose—only the quiet, solitary motion in a landscape that feels as lifeless as the shadows that surround them.
The heavy machinery in the foreground, dark and menacing, symbolizes the oppressive weight of modern life, grinding away while the individual remains small and insignificant. The scene evokes a profound sense of isolation, as though even in motion, the cyclist is trapped within a world that offers no escape, only a continuous loop of solitude in an otherwise indifferent existence.
Kraton Kush 
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