The Old Man lives behind the Fence. He is somewhat like other old people. Sometimes he walks, writes, reads, eats… and occasionally socializes. His mind is no longer an orderly library, but rather a scratched record: it gets stuck, repeats, skips, omits, forgets. His memories slip apart, spilling into one another.
Yet deep inside, the deepest self still tries to hold on: it searches for anchors, clings to the remaining fragments of memory, to stubborn motifs that are still capable of holding together his disintegrating consciousness.
This is a unique state of existence in the here and now, where forgetting creates unexpected situations, and reality becomes fleeting on the shifting ground of overlapping layers of memory.