Formia is a small town, a narrow strip of land squeezed between sea and mountains. There's only two ways you can pass through Formia: back and forth. The same goes for the lives of the four main characters: narrow is the place they inhabit, confined are the perspectives. Victims of both an old country that doesn't offer much and the worst financial crisis of the last eighty years, the four of them are indulging in this situation. Hangmen and victims, at once. Unable to desire or claim, always kind, asking for permission. It might be that their parents' couches are too comfortable: so there they are, lying down, struggling as little as it gets to say: I tried. Maybe. Because afterwards the sense of uneasiness reappears, overbearingly, along with the need to find a way out, a purpose, something to fight for. An idea just like any other. Doesn't matter.