"A man was jumping with war cries on something like a windmill that had come loose with the help of a rope from the highest beam on the neighbor's roof. Another one was practicing the war dance on the giant garden thermometer of the neighbor. Someone who had climbed a ladder was urinating in the enemy's flower bed with the pumpkins. One was jumping at the edge of his property and polluting the enemy's atmosphere with a fart that whistled louder than a circus whip. Another one had lit a fire next to the front line with God knows what kind of garbage and was shooting the dirty smoke towards the direction of the enemy with one of those machines of damnation, which usually swirl dry leaves together with dust and all kinds of rubbish and throw them into the atmosphere. It was a time of culmination. But they had gotten used to it. It would never end."

The story of a lazy actor, one single day, from morning till late at night. Walking in a metropolis during the summer, from the outskirts to its various centers. Meetings with runners, homeless people, peculiar couples, a priest, policemen. A journey through conflicts and hostilities of neighbors, in front of huge screens with politicians, then among subway passengers from another world.

A flash in the city center. And the face of a woman.