Behind seven floors, on the eighth floor, in the most dishevelled tenement in the city centre, lived a bunch of grown-up children. Adults because, admittedly, each of them had already turned 18, but children because no one knew where the electricity came from and they only knew how to make breakfast if the fridge was full of ready-made yoghurt. Flat number 42 on Kołowa Street was rented jointly by Basia, a master of fooling around and cutting retorts, Artur, an expert at sleeping anywhere and in any position, and Zbyszek, who claimed to be serious, but nobody believed him. Their most exciting activity was inventing businesses to conquer the world. From a button clasper (one sold, to Basia's mum), to an app analysing the shapes of clouds (Bugs had more than clouds in the sky), to the memorable 'Cheesecake T-shirts' - no one remembered anymore whether it was the design or the leftover dough on the fabric. One very cloudy morning (there were so many clouds that Arthur had given up on analysis), Basia burst into the living room with a face that heralded either a serious complication or a brilliant idea: - Listen, we're baking cheesecakes and selling them to go! Nobody bakes cheesecakes like me... and Zosia's grandmother, but we won't beat her. We've got a kitchen, we've got an oven, we've got... - here she suspended her voice as she realised they only had half the cottage cheese and zero sugar. - We have enthusiasm! - Arthur added, correcting the pillow under his head. Zbyszek, who was usually the first sceptic, surprised everyone this time: - 'If we split the profits equally, I'll even clean up after baking. By the evening, the three of them were taking turns running to the shop, looking for the cheapest cottage cheese, eggs and margarine. Production was in full swing and the smell of cheesecake was spreading through the stairwell, luring the neighbours to the door. The first customer - Mr Marian from the ground floor - bought two pieces and left a tip, asking for more next week. Soon customers started knocking on the door with orders, someone posted a review of the 'best cheesecake in town' on the internet, and the first serious order appeared in the email inbox - for five slabs for a mysterious accountancy firm. Just when Basia was pouring another cheesecake mixture onto a baking tray, someone knocked on the door. Once, quietly. Then again, with obvious nervousness. Zbyszek, already feeling like a true entrepreneur, opened the door wide, confident of a professional welcome. On the other side stood a man in a suit, with a chocolate fly instead of a tie and a briefcase marked "Cheesecake Control S.A.". He walked in without asking, pulled out a notepad and said: - I have come about your cheesecakes. There was silence for a moment, and everyone's gaze went to the hot tin. Had someone reported on their sweet business? Did the newcomer want to buy, inspect or.... Everyone froze in stillness, waiting to see what would happen next.