I'm at a stadium with C. for our wedding anniversary. We're watching a show. I pretend to throw my rings. C. says: ‘Not your wedding ring.’ The show is over and we leave. I'm wearing a black suit. Everyone else has jackets and coats with hats, it's getting colder. I hold on to a bike on a wall and let someone pull me up with it cause I can't do it on my own, it’s too difficult. We finally succeed. I realise that we've been watching a film about my grandfather's murderer. No wonder I was so upset. Y. and I are standing in front of a book of aluminium sculptures. Y. is talking very loudly and I urge her to keep her voice down. Other people arrive. She's offended at first, but catches herself. I'm standing in front of my father's desk from Menorca. My mother is sitting at it. It's empty except for the silver casket. She's talking to other people. I think I'd probably have my computer on the desk if I had a job. Did it used to be like that? Did I have enough work? My father knew about the murder and the murderer, didn't he?