It’s all happening on the road. Passing wide-eyed from one town to another, inspecting everything around you. There’s a mysterious bond between yourself, and the passenger seat, from where you gaze to countless projections bound by the common image of a street or a road between two cities. You ask yourself about the meaning of all this, of the countless specters of road kill that invariably haunt you, after carefully meandering between them on the road. A bizarre flash with a fat man wearing flip-flops slipping on rotten plums fallen off the trees passes through your brain.