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A Principino whose body dissolves and recomposes perpetually, leads us inside an ancestral tunnel, layered like a bazaar, for just 21 minutes. At the stroke of the 18th minute the light goes off and comes on intermittently marked by the rhythm of Bingo Bongo. From the darkness crawls an ignoble spirit with stocky features with a guttural voice leads us astray to the gates of the gulf. The air suddenly becomes warm, the current dilates. The internal whistle of the bowels resounds from the deepest abysses. The shadow of his pain vanishes in the wake of a final sound sedimentation.
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