On the left, a man on his knees, dignified in his silence, stares blankly into the desert that lies all around him, disconnected, resigned to his fate, something in his expression and demeanor akin to that of a schoolboy who’s been caught red-handed doing something naughty. His posture and emotionless face reminiscent of mine on each of the occasions as a kid that I found myself sat outside the head teacher’s office, stuck in a pile of metaphorical excrement, without an alibi and with witnesses’ words to incriminate me, knowing that my parents had already been called and that once the head had felt I’d been made to wait long enough, would call me in and tell me I’d been suspended from school again, before handing me over to my dad knowing full well that as soon we got home I was going to be subjected to what was referred to in my house as “a tanning.”
But as I sat there in the corridor, awaiting my judgement, I could have no complaints. If you get caught, you expect the consequences. No excitement, no anger, no resistance, just a Mona Lisa face of acceptance. Ohmmmm. Zen. A teenager working on a supermarket checkout. Beep. Beep. Beep. A man on his knees about to have his head cut off by a lunatic.