“When someone died, that wasn’t the end. It wasn’t like everyone thought, because even if my mother wasn’t there anymore, she crept through my bones, and even if I had thrown the urn off the roof, that wouldn’t be the end. There was no end. Ever.”
A tent on the rooftop of a building in Berlin: It’s summer and Levi has run away. His father may still live just a few stories down from Levi’s camp, but he’s never really paid much attention to his son. And now that Levi has stolen his mother’s urn at the funeral, he can’t show his face anymore anyway.
In his struggle with loss, the boy seeks out his own allies. There’s the mysterious Vincent, who drives through the city with him and lives in the same building, but hardly reveals anything about himself, except for some shady business. And Kolja, the kiosk owner, who still considers memory loss – brought on with the help of plenty of whiskey – the best way to cope with life. But memories emerge from the past just as stubbornly as Kolja’s pictures from his time as a war photographer, which he continues to develop in a backroom of his kiosk.
