Immersion in the theater with the feeling of having entered a museum of overplaying and well-deserved boredom is replaced by criticism of book pathos and nostalgia for heavy music, which has long since become just a background for other people's covers. The eternal conflict between sincerity and hypocrisy, between art and habit, where even the classics seem frozen in some eternal stagnation. An ironic look at a world where books don't make you smarter, and music isn't always yours, and theater is just a place for those who don't know how to leave.
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