Through six foot tall open gates onto a dusty square of land. To the left, a moped. A broken wooden staircase runs along the outside of a disused building up to its second floor. To its right, a modern bungalow. A moored luxury yacht. Whatever these are. A dingy. I make a picture.
He emerges in uniform. This is a naval base. With tilted head and a compassionate smile, he asks me where I’m from, where I’m going. He tells me I’m trespassing. Does it, do they, really contain any secrets? What are the implications of making the private public?