An excerpt from the novel:

Only a few people know more about me than a man I met by chance in an elevator, or an elderly woman I gave my seat to on a bus. I was always secretive about my life as if it were a scandal or a sin, always careful to bury my secrets and experiences within me. I am haunted by the feeling of being too abandoned, like an open grave in a city inhabited by people who do not die, immortal beings forever. A grave fleeing from the corpses that flocked to it in its distant homeland, where death professionally gnaws at people every day, every hour, and every minute, and where a story is born with everything in a country kneaded from the clay of fear. Even the things we think are not afraid, they panic in their own way, and silently defend their owners more than they defend themselves, also in their own way. I am too abandoned, so I will throw my body on every street where I stop at a traffic light, under the wheels of the train, on the desk of the foreigners' office employee, in the public square, on the city stage, and on the tongues of those who will never perish.