We must imagine it, Vincenzo Malonchico who goes from the psychotherapist and is not able to do the patient. You have to imagine it out of the studio, on the street, or at home, while he lives the life of him and asks the most eccentric and peregrine questions, and find the crazy and most logical answers. Cut the language licking an envelope or not an injury that tells you much longer than what it seems? Have we interrogated enough about the avant-gardistic scope of Raffaella Carra? Why watch a mozzated palm on the waterfront can falsify the budget of a whole existence in an instant? It is a joy to be behind him, follow his tortuous and crystalline head while she formulates theorems, aphorisms and vanver, variations on the theme of love, emotion and feelings; sudden questions about words that suddenly lose meaning; Extemporaneous reviews of old songs, strange films, events and people; Notes on the waist that resemble the pins of a tireless entomologist. In his do-it-yourself analysis attempts to reconstruct the meaning of a finite story, Vincenzo hides himself and the problem of him, to tell us much more. A swirling novel, made of short, comedy, philosophical pieces, always flaming, where the writing is revealed to the reader in one of his most artisan versions: that of an instrument to understand how we think about things.