Love, sometimes frantic and sometimes with the slow rhythm of Europe's railways, goes back and forth. Although separated by three-quarters of a century, two stories chase alongside it on the tracks; until the end of innocence.

The Balkans are burning again and a random event - a bomb that will split their train in two - will set him and her in motion. She, the dream of every sculptor, he a young man in formal attire with a side part in his hair.

The narrative unfolds in the restrooms of the stations and breathes in the shadows of the trees. The dialogues suffocate inside phone booths, punctuation flirts with silences while the key on the can of spinach is not one of those that opens the tin cylinders.

(. . ) [Excerpt from the text on the back cover of the edition]