In a fragmented bedroom, as in the memory, a clock is evidence of a moment which threatens to never end, moving forward with more effort, only to move twice as slow. Through a window, the outside seems uninterrupted and slightly sped up. Cars pass with people listening or singing to music unaware of the event. Sweaty hair against the mirror holding the moment and memory, although in an attempt to detox. The lamp spins either with the victim or the room, continuously shying from the act of violence. At the installation’s center, images of a ceiling fan are projected onto bedsheets in a hypnotic motion, spanning the whole wall. A trace called to the stand: “She stared at me until it was over. The room was spinning too.”