Perhaps he thought when he got home he could hang his wooden spoons up, although at the moment they were sitting in a great big blue jar—which seemed to be the right place, as then he could just grab them beside the air fryer, you know, that kind of thing, when he was cooking on the run.

This was making him hungry now, thinking about all these wooden spoons and the boat made of wooden spoons. He was thinking about dinner. Maybe he could have some nice pasta with some garlic and some black pepper, vegetables, and maybe some olives. He might be able to put some tuna in there too, and he may also have had some fresh herbs, which were also given to him by the woman who lived upstairs, Silvia.

You don't need to understand every word. Let the sounds settle, and notice what you follow naturally.

Some of these stories drift for a while, and then arrive somewhere familiar — a kitchen, a walk, or a quiet moment between tasks.