A man is making a television show. He interviews three men on a couch. All the men are smoking, two of them cigars. I watch them from behind the sofa. They are talking about architecture. The reporter is also building a house. He wants to make the inside completely out of concrete. The camera flies around the house. It is red and looks ugly but is apparently very modern and very expensive. It serves as a hotel and the reporter says that rooms have already been rented out at high prices. I climb down a ladder. It's very high and the steps fold downwards. I unlock one segment at a time and drop it in an arc, holding on to it. I fall almost weightlessly. The other men see me and call out. I'm not afraid. Not even when a bolt comes loose and the ladder tilts to the side. When I get downstairs, I pull a very heavy coat over my other clothes. It's difficult to put it on. We pack for the journey back. I say goodbye to the men who are now standing in front of my old school wearing round sunglasses. They think it's taken a long time. Somehow I'm not a part of all this, more an observer. I'm going back with the reporter. To Stuttgart? I have to go to Berlin. I tell him that unfortunately I don't know him. He says that A. will fly him back, that he's always early.