Three nameless men – A, B and C – are in a relatively empty room. “A” sits in front of a table playing Solitaire, desperately trying to win in the game, while “B’s” vigilant – and annoying for “A” – eye is fixed on him. “A” tries to explain:

The Solitaire is not funny [...]. One has to be serious about it. […] Because you play with yourself, with your fate, with your future; you have something in your mind.

Through the apparent inertia and the lack of substantive action, the human existence screams its anguish, unleashing all its sadism and masochism. The end is open like an open wound, like a gap ready to engulf everyone and everything. There are no answers. The life cycle continues, while people simply switch places. “B” becomes “A” and “C” becomes “B” without even themselves realizing how. Even death loses its significance, since the flow of life doesn’t change.