The bear, tied tightly, sitting in the snow, begins to dream. It's minus twenty outside, the icy wind blows the snow. In the street, Muscovites sell shoes, a dog and a monkey are sturdily dressed, the escalator takes us out of the metro while others swim in a steaming outdoor pool. Sometimes, to make a living, people dress up as clowns or wolves to lure passers-by into stores. The wolf gives the narrator his phone number. He is young and his name is Ilia Krone. His mouth is the same shape as hers like a perfect harmony. Moscow seems empty to him when he is away. "He has a head for wanting to come to France" a friend told him. Besides, things don't get better with time. Moscow is a city where it is said that the colder it is, the more people start to lie.