This work appeared from memories of my childhood. On it you see our aged, now ancestral like a castle, family grand piano, under which in our childhood consecutively my grandmother, my mum, well and certainly I... were hiding. The grand piano passed from house to house, from city to city. During the wars it was twice wrapped up and almost taken away by German occupation troops. But both times they didn't manage. This grand piano has become a member of our family. All our problems and achievements are inside us. There are no problems, which are outside. We make any place, absurd or interesting similar to ourselves. We are free to treat any place as a home or as a prison. Internally transforming the place for ourselves, we change its contents. Once, when I was a little boy, and stood on the corner of Saksaganski and Gorki streets, I was struck with a thought, that these same houses were precisely the same at the tsarist time. But there used to live completely different people there. I couldn't be a dissident at the time but felt that a social system is an illusionary thing. Whatever happens these houses will be as beautiful and, even when all of us are no longer alive, there will be the same cosy flats there, and people will be still walking along the street, and each of them will have his life, surname, history, and each will have his inner world. This world may be bizarre, but it is sure to be hidden to others.