“I feel like a muse on leave: I am no longer a promising young thing, and I don’t have a recognised role. I have no aim in sight and I haven’t achieved anything. An idea for a painting which is yet to be defined. An unknown.” This is how the protagonist of this story sees herself on her thirtieth birthday, one 23rd of April when she wakes up with a stranger and thinks that she is too old for this sort of thing. Barcelona opens itself lustily to the bars and nightclubs, where the cold bitter beer becomes a metaphor. But it also exposes its flesh and bones, its neighbourhoods subjected to the noise of drilling on works that are never finished. Confronted with the incisive personal character of the protagonist, a friend encourages her to adopt ‘post-cynicism’ as an existential philosophy, an ideal approach for the undefined present and future of those who find themselves in their thirties.