Henry was not a kid. He was a simple man. A fool with trust but no ambition. In his book of life there was no surviving desire. He was an amateur. He tried to flirt the cartographer’s girlfriend. No such thing could make him forget the girl from monday. The unbelievable truth was that his theory of achievement was wrong. Iris treated him like these lost dogs at the streets. His adventure was not even close of being an opera. That’s a fact.