This is of course a classic of post-war drama. Two friends Vladimir and Estragon wait for Godot – and nothing happens.

The play is about lack of action, or more precisely: lack of development through quite some action. There is not much to be summarised, and what could in theory be summarised really does not matter.

What does matter is the atmosphere of desolation and the general sense of how futile our existence is.

An easy, though not a pleasant read.