Ordinary things.

Days are filled with moments collected for that conversation. A conversation that explodes from a dormant reservoir of an unshared biography. Moments that are characteristically silent and coloured with the narrowed aperture of eyelids as the spirit focuses it's energy to take an inner photograph in all the dimensions that only an imperfect memory can capture. Which is then stored away, and forgotten indefinitely until it reappears during 'that' conversation.

About filipino chicken feet.