There, next to the ditch, my cousins caught a hedgehog once, put it in a baking tray, and were hitting a pot with a spoon, like a drum, to make it dance, but it didn't dance very much. My grandmother would shout at them for hitting the pot and warned that it would get filled with holes if they didn't also break the spoon from above. But who was listening to her? Everyone was laughing because they had caught a hedgehog that didn't know how to dance. The hedgehog is a very beautiful animal. It has sweet, absent-minded eyes, a pointed snout with sparse whiskers, and a very black, nimble, and shiny little ball at the tip of its nose.

The prose writer Sakis Totlis narrates and reveals how the first impressions on the blank paper of childhood memory become the most densely written baggage forever.

[Excerpt from the text on the back cover of the edition]