This is a novel with multiple plot lines, in which you only get to witness only a couple of days of a character who’s name is You. It may seem that except for his name, his life is nothing exceptional. That is if it wasn’t for a chain of events that fluctuate between his daily routine and an existential terror of reiteration. What is the most important part? It’s you and You facing inevitability.

This is you, and this – is You. Both of you have something in common – exceptionality in a monotonous moment of time, when meaningless decisions have to be made. Or meaningful, to such an extent, that there is nothing left once they are made. Who knows what awaits you around the corner – will you go to work in a continuous, 'almost-holiday' fever or wander in a labyrinth of crooked mirrors? Except for his name, it seems our character’s life is nothing more than unexceptional – there’s no room for miracles or cobwebs. The room is filled with office papers, some vaguely familiar family members, an ailing story of sensation, a couple of dropped lines and a sharp drop – a circle, inside and outside of which you and You wander. Open the letter, pick up the phone, speak up or step aside – and this story will gain new fractures and reflections.