Alice is waiting. She is waiting for Rio, a phone call, an explanation of where he is. Sometimes she goes looking for him, sometimes she gets into her rusty car to disappear herself. The art school where they met is long behind them, and success has eluded them. Rio loses himself in petty criminal activities revolving around his drug addiction, deal after deal keeping him busy with the substance. Alice works as a waitress, clinging to unfinished love songs and defending with her faltering Fiat the last remnants of a façade between rundown shacks and raves, prison and social services. The turning point only becomes possible when friends intervene.

Seven years later, Alice stands at Rio's door to talk with him about the past. She is working on a novel, trying to understand her story. But memory remains unreliable, and Rio struggles with the narrator's interpretive power. Alice resorts to invention, yet even there the old depths of their relationship lurk.

Amazingly light and with a wry sense of humor, Sarah Elena Müller tells of this hopeless love and the power and powerlessness of storytelling.