FIND US

Details: Every object has a ghost. There is a small yellow backpack - half unzipped, mouth yawning to the pavement, contents strewn around it (a banana, an exercise book, a pair of scissors) - abandoned on a suburban footpath. Ten feet away, the rubber stamp of tires, resisting clamped brakes, mount the curb and cut across the path. The tracks come to an end at a crippled stop sign.