The stone tile of the upper floor terrace is broken into squares by the sun. You can jump on the spots of light while playing hopscotch, but the girls have another play: under the roof of the terrace, white wedding dresses are swaying in the wind. Through the grille of the terrace one can see the peeling walls of the house opposite and the tiled roofs hidden in the lush greenery of the trees. Girls in identical black oversized T-shirts smoke, drink alcohol, eat chocolates from a box, laugh, help each other style their hair, apply makeup. Broken shoes and battered sneakers lie in a heap waiting on the floor between maps of Latin America, travel tickets and suitcases. The girls sing along to the popular tune, dance and fool around: today is their holiday. They have nowhere to rush and there are no clear plans, strict schedules, guests or relatives. They don't have much money to celebrate anything, and along the way from country to country they have lost their holiday calendars long ago. Over the past years of existence in different systems of religious and state chronology, they have forgotten the dates of their own birthdays, stopped looking for reasons for the holiday and ways to dress up.
Through the inscrutable paths of earthly existence, they met in the heart of South America to find a reason to celebrate.
