A shop in the Great Bazaar. Threads of all colors surround two old men. I enter, and Reza shows me his blue hands: I ask him if I can take a photograph. With a mischievous air, he closes the shop and tells me to follow him. Without delay! He opens a new door and we are in a fabric warehouse. Two ladders are immediately up set up to a skylight. Reza climbs quickly. I struggle to follow him. We are on the rooftop of the bazaar. Reza weaves in and out of the domes. Blue threads are hanging in a corner. They are the reason why his hands are blue. Now, he lets me take a photo of them. Reza is laughing. it was a good joke! Then, in the blink of an eye, he hurtles down the ladder. I go back down. Reza has already gone. But the photos remain.