It is not obvious where a hole would need to be made to provoke a flow of energy and light that would pass through us. Harder still to establish or accurately intuit what object or entity would be required to make this miraculous hole, allowing in new air and, sometimes, changing our lives. For some it entails turning on the computer screen, for others going on an unplanned trip, and others, like the anchorite in the film, throwing messages in bottles down the toilets of their homes, or kissing someone in a specific time and place, or, like Marc, making a window at the back of his hut, on the wall bearing a metal Parchís board he rescued from the local youth club after it shut down. There it is, vertically fixed to the wall, riveted against a section of a Cepsa oil drum and to part of a can that had once held 250 frankfurters. After careful consideration of the pros and cons of a hole in just that spot, he concluded that every one of the bits of consumer objects that made up his wall were already in themselves windows connecting him with the complex world of humankind because on the far side of each logo and trademark there unfolded, cascaded, the vast and rich genealogy of developed societies, all of it, but the only thing on a Parchís board was a 4-colored cross, a diagram, something akin to the plans for a symmetrical city attractive to him, it is true, in its perfect solitude, though at the same time disgusting him, provoking the revulsion of any person who sees in that icy solitude the very shortcoming that is sure to mean his or her destruction. And so he took up a saw and made the opening he now looks through from time to time, watching the cars going down the street toward the sea; he knows none of them can come back along it. Nor can he unmake this hole.