People biting the metal while sitting cross-legged on rugs in August Athens. Teenagers discovering the meaning of life in salon chairs, getting bangs cut. Headless torsos, with green round signs shimmering incessantly, in virtual neighborhoods. Men losing their sleep fearing death and spending their awake hours watching telemarketing.

Roughened boys lying early under marble with their heads open and their flowers now wash bouzouki singers. Young people migrating to foreign sidewalks to wear shiny shirts without fearing they'll end up in the ER. Popular bachelors painting their lips with bloody lipstick and crossing avenues and squares in the midday sun. People who belong to everyone, and others who belong nowhere. Deviants everywhere and all kinds of different.

Seven stories of people who got tired of being others. Gays in the village, villagers in the city, second-class citizens abroad, anachronistic in love, embarrassed in social settings, blessed behind closed doors...

Seven stories of people who are sung and recited, with their musical backdrop an eternal, piercing, annoyingly redemptive: tururut.