On the highway, where normally only the sound of speeding cars and the monotonous rhythm of tires on asphalt predominate, lies, almost unnoticed, a rectangular piece of artificial grass, so green that it almost seems a mockery of the barren verges that surround it. The cars that rush past, some with a slight slowing in their speed as if their drivers are momentarily hesitating, drive calmly and without much fuss around it, as if this artificial island is nothing more than an innocent interruption in the flowing asphalt of their journey. No honking, no brakes, just a silent acceptance that here, in the middle of the highway, the inexplicable can happen.