A performance with the spoken word. A woman, a table, scissors, things to do, a chair, a pen, things to say: what’s the matter who’s talking? Black curtains, a small theatre. No reality exists except the art, no art exists except the life, no life exists except the work. No crime exists we can’t commit. We are what we are and if we have devils inside we couldn’t rejoice in it, we should stroke and fondle them, let them run everywhere and, if they wish to talk, open the body and the throat.