In the house on the corner of our street lived an old man. I didn't know his name. He didn't know mine. The day before he died he left a cardboard box, containing his most treasured possessions, on my doorstep. Books, CDs, cassettes and videotapes I'd never heard of. I wanted to learn more. I couldn't. They were untraceable. The stuff didn't seem to exist... A show about half-truths and white lies, identity, medication and the things you leave behind. 'Noir-like quality. In talking about art, they prove it's worth making it' (Scotsman).