It was a rainy evening on Mekor Haim Street.

I was sitting in the nearby pizzeria, chatting about art, like every evening.
Wena was at home singing her heart off in her karaoke box, like every evening.

Two parallel events which take place in the big city.

This evening - Wena's singing transformed into a prayer for stage, my hand found the courage to knock on her door, our eyes met.
Since this moment on, we have been singing, dancing, exchanging sweat and identities, looking for a possible way to move together. 
How can a body overcome identity? How can dance itself defeat the politics of the performance?