Bitter black tea with a cinnamon twist philosophizes with a crumbling butter biscuit. The beverage and the snack keep perfect company with a sullen afternoon, a greying sky. Venus is partying with the sun today, the astrologers write reams about once-in-a-lifetime while I think of the teacup handle that my grandmother held, placing my fingers on bone china that she touched. Everyday we trace a pattern in the physical world, sew a hem of particles as we move. I like used things that have their own material history, think about my body meeting the one that came before through this object, a wordless rendez-vous. This afternoon, I leave a trail of biscuit crumbs, sip and listen to the washing spin.