A mosquito lies in wait until the perfect moment. One must be measured and patient in this battle of wits-rarely is the fool who moves first ultimately victorious.

It was a rainy spring day when I first witnessed the mosquito’s waltz through my open window. It moved lyrically through the air, dodging raindrops perfectly in sync with the music of the Johann Strauss Orchestra that filled my living room. I was in awe of the flexibility and vitality this mosquito displayed. It avoided the raindrops expertly as it danced in ¾ time. At one point a large water droplet smacked it like a boulder, but it glided over its surface and maintained its rhythm. I watched the dancing mosquito, dumbfounded. I knew that to catch mosquitoes I needed to learn their innate sense of rhythm, which means I needed to learn how to waltz.

A man and his sidekick, his trusty mosquito swatter. Together they wage battle against the insidious mosquitoes that invade the man’s apartment in the summer months. To the man, a graffiti artist and social activist wanted by the police, the process is just as meaningful as the result. Capturing a mosquito by hand is his way of fighting back against the injustices of the world, against the unfair and suffocating reality in which he finds himself.
When he finds himself locked in a particularly epic face-off that lasts all throughout the night, through moments of unconsciousness and altercations with his intolerant wife he muses on the nature of art, social resistance, and incurable obsession.