In the concise scenic space and in the limited severity of costumes. They tell the history of the city, which is not. Yes, and whether it was - is not entirely clear, because everything that happened in it - it seems like a dream. Bad, incredible dream.

So, Petrograd in the year 1918.

Covered with snow, frozen and frozen.

A city that sees terrible dreams. A city by which, measuring life with a chased step, there are twelve. They pass through it, as if through eternity, changing the city beyond recognition.

There's someone grumbling discontentedly, but what about the changes - but are they for the best? You can hear, whisper in the ranks of twelve that their friend has lost his way from the revolutionary path, he is entertained through taverns with a hint of a black-brow.

And, like a sign of the changes that have taken place, at the crossroads there is a frozen bourgeois and around him a scabby little dog, would not get bogged down, or else he would knock down his barking bark from a smooth step.

Oh, look at how someone is driving a cab, guns - or! In bourgeois it is not shameful. Even on the contrary!

And yet, maybe it's not about bourgeoisie, but about love. In the love that divided three revolutionary people on the frozen street of revolutionary Petrograd, they shared them with spilled blood, and they no longer have a way back. Only forward, for the barking barking of a dog and the pace of twelve.