He begins with the camera already running, mid-thought, the way someone does when the thing they want to show has been waiting behind a wall the whole time. Hey guys, so you guys haven't got to see the outside yet. The interior had been the subject until now. rswfire turns the lens away from it and steps out into the lot where the coach sits on display, and the first thing he does is announce what is about to happen — the slide is coming in, in a minute — so that whoever is watching arrives at the moment with him rather than after it.
The walk starts along the outside wall. He moves slowly enough to let the camera find things, and the first find is a camera of its own, mounted high on the coach. There's a camera up there. Then, further along, another. He says he doesn't know where to look for it, that the other man had pointed it out and he hadn't caught it at the time — an eye he knows is there and cannot locate, somewhere in the seam between roofline and wall. He states his reason for the walk plainly as he goes: so we're going to go around the outside of it so I can learn about this stuff. Not to show it off. To learn it. The perimeter is the curriculum and his feet are the method.
Off-frame, the second man works the mechanism. rswfire is already narrating when it starts — oh here it goes — and then the wall of the coach is in motion, drawing itself inward, and his narration breaks apart into sound. Oh my God, that is so cool. Wow. The camera stays on the slide as it travels. He watches a structure change its own dimensions in front of him, and the watching produces a correction: that's more than a foot, so I'm kind of wrong there, what I said earlier. Something he had estimated inside, before he had seen the thing move, revised on the spot against the evidence of the mechanism itself. He does not defend the earlier number. He replaces it.
The slide stops. There is a pause long enough for him to fill it — I wonder what he's doing, like maybe got stuck or something — and then the motion resumes and the guess dissolves. No, there it goes. The wall completes its travel. What was a room a moment ago is now a flat surface flush with the body of the coach, and rswfire is already ahead of it, imagining the other side: I can't wait to see what it looks like on the inside with them closed too. The exterior has taught him something about a space he has already stood in, and he wants to go back and see it again with the new knowledge in hand.
He circles on. The enthusiasm does not decay — that's awesome, that's awesome, oh my God that is so, so cool, I love that — and then the register drops into something quieter as he gestures at the last stretch of wall. So this is it. Here's, you know, um, just over here. It's very pretty. The sentence doesn't resolve. The camera lingers on the coach in the daylight of the lot, an enclosure with mounted eyes and walls that move, being measured by a man walking its edge to find out whether it can carry a life.