“It was early morning, outside Santa Chiara, in Naples. A friar was feeding the pigeons — an ancient gesture, repeated who knows how many times across who knows how many centuries. Then our eyes met. In that moment, something stopped. I couldn’t tell you where I went — but I was no longer there, no longer in the present. Naples knows how to do this: open cracks in time, pull you inside without asking permission.That photograph is not just a photograph. It is a passage.”