In the White City

The movie starts with a man taking pictures of himself, like all movies do,
like a woman peeling onions, one layer, one translucent film at a time,
blurring her eyes with teats, Sorrow does this. So does mace. So do peppers—

The best serrano chiles ate the thin ones, barely an inch in length. Shipped
from Guadalajara by the truckload, early April into winter. Some say boil
the ted ones, or let them soak in water, then peel them with your fingers
the way you'd tear a wrapper off a bar of ice cream, just to smell the chocolate.

The movie starts with a man sending pictures of himself, like all movies do,
to a woman we're not sure we know. She lives in Germany, She checks
her mail daily, a large box at the entry. Much of the movie is this, this checking
for a shipment, then the projector, the dim room, then the blurs again—