A stark black-and-white photo shot with a Nikon FM2 film camera at f/1.4, capturing Ruth Bradley mid-stride in a crumpled ivory blazer, her honey-blonde hair crackling with static as she strides through a derelict subway station. Her face, lit by flickering fluorescent light, wears a smirk sharp enough to cut glass, lips painted a venomous scarlet. Behind her, peeling graffiti merges with ivy choking rusted tracks, while a single overhead bulb casts her shadow as a gigantic, distorted figure. She holds a vintage typewriter like a weapon, keys glinting under the harsh light. The air thrums with the hum of dormant machinery and the scent of ozone.
