A filmmaker crisscrosses Milan during the days of the lockdown in search of hard-to-find face masks, often waiting on queues at supermarkets.

Her roaming through the deserted streets is accompanied by the clanking of invariably empty trams: this is the only sound guiding her as her camera frames details that she notices for the first time.

The surreal dimension of the city mixed with what she’s living through stuck at home, between her computer and video-calls with friends. But it’s especially through her conversations with her mother that, while analyzing the handwriting of painters, musicians, writers – as well as of some of the people governing us – that unsuspected identities are revealed.