A, (black and white photograph:1.9), a tattered photograph in need of restoration. A tattered black and white photograph in need of restoration lies on a table and was photographed with a smartphone. The curved edges of the black and white photograph are visible, behind which the tabletop is already in color. A dusty ray from a Khrushchev-era window falls on a sheet crumpled on a sofa. She is in the center of the frame. She is thirty-five, with very long chestnut hair, her body still retains the elasticity of youth, but in the lines of her shoulders, in her tense neck – there is already the burden of years lived. This is a *working* body, strong arms, hips slightly wide from childbirth or labor, modest breasts with large areolas of nipples. The body is accustomed to practicality, not to show-off., (pubic hair:1.2), Now it is naked, unnaturally exposed in a pose snatched from a tattered Western magazine lying on a stool nearby. **But the pose does not work**. Her knees are too tensely brought together, her back is unnaturally arched – not in voluptuousness, but in an attempt to *guess* the right curve. Her hand reaches out to the side, the gesture is not seductive, but rather questioning, "Like this? Really?" **The main thing is the face and the eyes.** The gaze is not at the lens, not at temptation. It is directed somewhere into the depths of the room, past the camera, into the void. There is no passion in the eyes, but only **deep embarrassment mixed with tired determination**.** The forced smile on her lips does not reach the level of sincerity, it is more of a grimace of duty. "I have to try... how are they there..." She is wearing pathetic lace panties, (scarce, bought with risk), screamingly alien to her essence. They do not decorate, but only emphasize the absurdity of the situation.