Bucharest in spring 2002: David Wagner has an apartment in the middle of the city, plenty of time, and is supposed to write a novel. However, he only visits Ceaușescu's palaces, gambles away his money at the casino, misses his little daughter, meets crooks, writers, and publishers, falls in love with a poetess, and is supposed to bring Gellu Naum's winter coat to Oskar Pastior in Berlin - in short, he finds himself in a novel instead of writing one. Rediscovered notes and diary entries that date back to 2021 now tell this story from the last days of post-communism, a novel full of poetic despair and a joy for description.