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Every morning is a new tangle of sixteen words. There are four groups of four hidden in it, and the connection within each has its own: somewhere objects of the same kind, somewhere a common verb, somewhere a meaning that only comes at a third glance. The difficulty is not in the words, but in those that pull in two directions at once. The KNIFE begs for cutlery, but it is needed where everything is sharp. CREAM looks like the dairy department exactly until you remember that it is being removed. You can make mistakes four times. The puzzle is the same for everyone: The neighbor at the entrance and the man from Vladivostok are sorting out the same tangle as you today, and you are standing next to each other at the table of the day. There will be a new one in the morning.