One of the film’s characters, the operator of a huge crane, looks down on the city. He sees various things. The distance and loneliness at altitude makes him think things over, and he’s happy to share his reflections with the filmmakers. The camera and us – the viewers – assume his point of view. We look down on rooftops, and on the pattern of streets meandering between them, and we suddenly notice a young woman taking photographs. She also likes bird’s-eye views. She paints rooftop panoramas of the city in tranquil, somewhat melancholy colours. Paradoxically, however, this film stays close to the ground. We see the life of a large family. The father collects scrap metal and one of his sons sells holy pictures for pennies in the city centre streets. We see women baking lavash (Armenian bread) in a cellar bakery using traditional methods. We also observe the daily rituals of an old couple, their cheerful murmurs, unhurried gestures and the silences they sink into. The film’s peaceful narration tries to capture something that fills the space between the crane’s lofty perspective with a view on Mount Ararat and the mundane hustle and bustle around everyday activities; the struggle to survive another day. Every viewer will have to find their own name for it.