I cleaned out my handbag. Deep-clean. The kind where you dump out everything and then pull the lining inside-out and shake again. Take a damp rag to it, dust out the cobwebs.
I found unintended souvenirs of my last few weeks. Glitter, honey-dust, “Sweeney Todd” ticket stub, sticker from the top of a bottle of tasty bubbly, and a dime or two.
Seemed more interesting at the time, while I was cleaning and shaking these tidbits loose. But I guess that is how life ought to be–more interesting at the time, than in the telling.