One evening, in a city of an imaginary place, a father gets up from the table, he started from his wife and leaves to go "over there." He lost a son, years before, and "over there" is where the world of vivi borders with the land of the dead. He doesn't know where he is going, and especially he doesn't know what he will find. Let it be the legs to lead him, for days and nights it turns around his city and little by little he joins him a varied series of characters who live the same drama and the same pain: the Duke Lord of those lands, a repairman of Fishing nets, a midwife, a cobbler, an elderly teacher who solves math problems on homemade walls. And the man who was entrusted with the task of writing city chronicles. Each has its own history, those who lost their son for a serious illness, who in an accident, those in war. Along with them ideally, given that he cannot move from him's room, there is also a strange figure of centaur, with the lower part of the body that has turned into a desk over time. And a writer who for fifteen years lives surrounded by the objects of the son who is gone, and whose unique desire has since then capturing that death with the words of him. "I can't understand something until I write it," he says. And he to inspire and incorporate the story we are reading.