A man wearing a flimsy hospital gown, with a plastic mask on his forehead, invites people at the station to a performance.
His offer is accepted by the “residents” of the station and people whose train won’t arrive for a long time. We lock ourselves up for 12 minutes in a cramped room lined with black foil. There are 15 chairs in a tight circle awaiting us, each with a plastic mask and gown on it. A candle standing in the middle lights up the darkness. When everyone is seated, wearing gowns and masks, a tale played from a CD begins. The narrator introduces the participants to a story about passengers travelling together in a train compartment. Dialogues between the passengers revolve around the subject of the internal reflection of the “I” in the human face. The travellers gradually discover details of their lives reflected on their faces, and when the situation verges on collective vivisection, a voice of one of the gathered participants can be heard: “My name is Marcin and I am human.” (…) Silence follows. Now the proper spectacle begins.