Well, not wanting to brag, but bragging already, I speak from experience that you can do a couple of things on the backseat without the driver knowing. (Because they have to keep looking foward or we all die)
All the stories have their beginning in an apparently trivial word, in a daily object, or in a forgettable accident. All are made of small moments that accumulate in boxes, gathering dust.
All the stories deserve to be told, but now it's time to tell the story of them, and of all the small objects that have built - and destroyed - their relationship.
Our story begins with...
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