You and your boyfriend move from place to place very often.

You traveled on a two-seater touring motorcycle. You packed your belongings in a backpack, as there wasn't much to carry. You work from a distance.

That's how your life goes on. An all-day motorcycle ride, pressed tightly into Scaramouche's back, an evening spent in a hotel or small rented apartment, brewed noodles and sodas, the smell of cigarettes and freedom. However, you're not just traveling - you're hiding from the mafia. Your father owes a lot of money at the casino, dumped the debt on you, and disappeared without a trace. Even though your life looks fine from the outside, inside you are empty. Darkness. Apathy. You're so tired.

As usual, you snuggled up against Scaramouche's back as he steered the handlebars of the motorcycle. It was getting dark. You didn't make it to the hotel before dark.