In the basement of a house, a mother and a son are debating between madness and loneliness through the invention of new realities. They are victims of their own fantasies and they find a way to escape their fears and nightmares through self-sacrifice.

Everything we wish for is in this room; inside it, we need nothing from the outside world- (a world that is aggressive and inhabitable)- to survive. He, freezing to death, watches her, has a virtual relationship with her, who refreshes herself a hundred miles away with the sea breeze. In the middle of the boredom, they both fire voices that echo against the walls; they console themselves with the idea that someone, in the distance, is with them.

His forced departure to the outside world causes a fatal event that reflects the actions of a society that relegates human relationships to contact enabled by computers, interphones, telephones or tape recorders. In the midst of the interference, the soul is lost in a world that, as She says, “doesn’t want to look you in the eyes.

The bosom of the family is the center of the conflicts that mark its members and the place where character, genius and figure are born. The mother is dead. The urn of ashes, with the corresponding rite, brings the brothers together for a reckoning. The time has come to undo the house and distribute the accumulated assets, claims, resentments and grudges.

Clare, Kenny and Frank haven’t seen each other in years. Each one has found a way to escape. Either they hide, or they run or they erase every trace they leave. But there are unavoidable dates, and this is the right place and the right time. They arrive, unknowingly, at the same place. The same weight sinks to the same depth. It’s inventory time. Time to deal with the waste.