One afternoon, I killed time telling a woman a story. I thought this story was nothing special, but things seemed to lose control... Six years have passed, and now it is 2007. The woman finally arrives at her "destination". Is this "destination" her real "destination"? Anyway, every story should end one day.我對一個女人說了一個故事，這故事既不新鮮又無特色，聊勝於無，用來打發一個下午的時間。可是事態似乎失去控制……不過，又有甚麼關係呢？橫跨六年的時空，二零零七年的冬天，女人終於憑車票到達“目的地”，但是這“目的地”是否她的“目的地”呢？這一點已經不重要。無論如何，故事終有說完的一天。
