The speaker, a war photographer, reflects that a photograph's frame is comforting because it allows viewers to bend their interpretation of an image. For example, when the speaker takes pictures of things that are deeply sad or utterly ridiculous, viewers can reassure themselves that life goes on as usual beyond the frame. Alternatively, if a photograph is of something heart-warming, that frame projects a sense of reality onto the image it contains, convincing viewers that the image is a true representation of life.
The speaker compares two of their photographs to illustrate these points. The first is of two pink-skinned girls frolicking on the grass in the sunshine in Ascot, a town in England, their laughter rising like the bubbles in champagne.
The next picture is of a little girl in an unnamed war-town region struggling to carry a baby down a street that's been destroyed by the violence. The girl had noticed the speaker watching her right before the speaker took her photo.
Right after this, the first of what would be multiple bombs that day exploded near the girl, breaking the pavement stones into pieces. Driven by her basic instinct to survive, the girl dropped the baby, let out a scream that was too disturbing to have come from a small child, and ran for her life.
But the photograph that the speaker took just depicts a young mother nearly smiling for the camera. The gallery or newspaper displaying the photo later added a hopeful caption about the power of the human spirit to persevere even in hellish places. Yet the speaker argues that such places don't neatly fit into a photograph's frame. Their borders, along with those of more peaceful places, are messy and random, much like those created by blood dripping down a wall.