Over the last few days her tranquil face seemed to float into the frame at the most unexpected moments. Coming upon this building on fire I realized that it was her home. She was with an older woman who appeared to be her grandmother, an archetypal babushka. As the fire was spreading she became the pawn in a family dispute between her drunken father, her angry mother, and her outraged grandmother. Instead of salvaging whatever they could from their home, having wasted the time in the dispute, engrossed in themselves, they were reduced to watching the spreading disaster. This little girl was the calmest person there, and probably the most aware of what was going on around us.

Walking around through the rubble, the abandoned apartments, rummaging through the children's rooms, seeing all the toys abandoned, I couldn't help but wonder how, as an adult, the little girl would look back on all this.