Moves, grandmothers, syphilis and printers - all mixed up in a stream of tired consciousness trying to find meaning in the chaos of modern life and family dramas. The hero does not pity neither himself nor those around him, through sarcasm peeps sadness for lost times and the impossibility of being someone else. The world is an endless cycle of absurdity, where even marital sex is no longer an improvisation, but a learned trick for wear and tear. Irony and self-irony are the weapons and shields here, but in the end it all comes down to a simple confession: "It was me".
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