"Having barely connected, he tries to play something, but avoids the strings, his touch is still dormant in the beauty of his clenched hand. I understand little about how he succeeds in his shamanism, so I just watch, absorbed in his charm. And there is patience in this and the same common circumstance that haunts us - everything goes on, our time flows, as if life is really trying again, but someone kindly knocks on the room. We simultaneously look towards the door handle, not. asking questions, and in this there is all the same patience and all the same sophistication of banality. Without waiting for an answer, the door handle makes a slight turn, and breakfast rolls into the hotel room by itself. He frowns, realizing that he did not order anything, but refuse. does not dare, as if his obedience contains the essence of eternal duty..."