A middle-size city. A station. The close of day. A railcar pulls in and a man exits from it. A guy on his own who has never been here before. He’s called Milan, a big, disillusioned guy with a backpack, as battered as its owner, slung over his shoulder. A drugstore about to close. Milan goes in, looking for soluble aspirin. There he meets Manesquier, a former French teacher who is older than he is. The drugstore’s neon sign is switched off. The two men find themselves outside on the deserted street, both heading in the same direction. Although they have nothing in common – or so it would appear – they find they get on. They take it cautiously, though, and for a simple reason: in a confused kind of way, they both would have liked to have the other’s life.