Everything goes round in circles. Five people, one living room. Outside, on the street, cars are set on fire, and from the kitchen there comes no nice smell. Only after the wine has been spilled, the issue with the dark matter is solved, and already long ago nobody is expecting food anymore, the music is turned up. You need to suffer in order to be beautiful. Open-mouth surgery, hell is always oneself. In the orbit of always the same, always the similar, always the other. Humans, words, things.