It is Monday morning and Próspero has just arrived at his apartment. He has been partying all weekend and he is exhausted. In the building across the street, standing by his living room window, a strange man is looking at him. It is Carlos. A Colombian musician who has just moved to NY. Both men have been eying each other several times, but they don’t know each other. Nor do they know their respective stories. Stories of immigrants, of loss, of break ups, of search. Carlos is fascinated by Próspero’s life. When he comes home from Bushwick high from the drugs after the parties, he composes songs and imagines Próspero’s life. But that morning everything is different. Próspero thinks that the most ordinary morning in someone’s life can become the resolution to a life. Carlos observes, intrigued, from the couch, the story he has created through a window and he observes Agatha, a mysterious woman who appears sometimes in Próspero’s apartment and who is in love with Carlos. Próspero is determined to be done with his questions. In a city full of people, loneliness is the only companion.