Can negligible happiness exist? How to call those intense and volatile pleasures dotting our days, lighting up minutes as matches in the dark? You're in the queue at the supermarket waiting for your turn, maybe you're stuck in traffic, or wait for your girlfriend bait from a clothing store. When suddenly the reality around you seems to converge in one point, and makes it shine. So you understand how to have just met one. The moments of negligible happiness work like this: they can nest anywhere, ready to rain in the head and get your eyes open on something that until a moment you had not considered. To make you discover, for example, how precious is that handful of days of August in which everyone goes on vacation and you stay alone in the city. What morbid interest pushes you to close yourself in the bathrooms of the houses where you have never been and browse over all the products they use. Halfway between "I remember" Perec and the relentless laws of Murphy, Francesco Piccolo puts nude the most unmistakable pleasures, ICTs, weaknesses with which we all have to deal. Page after page, moment after moment, you end up overwhelmed by a wave of fun, intelligence and amazement. The author collects, catalogs and makes him the thousand epiphanies that bloom at every street corner. Because only reducing reality may be able to grab the deep sense of life for the tail.