“...melancholy, a little tired...beautiful. the whole story is perceived as tobacco smoke - light, sad, weightless. It’s as if he’s disappearing, and it’s no longer possible to catch him...” For me, the best epigraph to this book was the words of Haruki Murakami, “...What kind of text can a person write, rummaging through the refrigerator in a sleeping kitchen in the middle of the night? Only someone like that can...” Several stories about a ghostly, albeit really existing City. Reflections on search, freedom, loneliness and choice. They can be perceived as a single whole, or as several independent stories. Perhaps smoothly flowing into one another...