The nostalgically oppressive silence of a summer day. The saturated green of dancing treetops and the dull murmur of monotonously passing cars. A young man returning home. The low-resolution camera feels its way through rooms and hallways, accompanying the one who walks through them. A cigarette, a bath. The opening of the window as a common custom to let the soul of a recently deceased escape. Then the free fall. And the weightlessness. The film seems to repeat itself, but instead of a human being, a floating balloon shark now animates the place. Remotely controlled from off-screen. In some cultures, the shark is considered a messenger of spirits of the dead. Possibly the embodied rebirth of a deceased? Possibly just a person, a shark and an apartment.