An icy wind blows across the deserted asphalt plain of the highway, while the night, with its inky black blanket, shrouds everything in darkness. It is exactly 3:00 a.m., and the usual cacophony of engines has been reduced to the sporadic murmur of passing vehicles. In the middle of this still, stylish landscape, an unidentified rodent — neither mole nor rat, but something in between — cautiously creeps from the verge to the center of the road. Imagine the animal lifting its front paws, feeling like soft cushions against the cool asphalt. Each point of contact is slowed down as if time itself has been frozen. The snout, short and blunt, quivers with every breath and smells the cold scent of burnt brakes and wet leaves. The eyes gleam inquisitively, dark and inscrutable, while the headlights of an approaching car glide over its back like searchlights.