“There are different shades of grey; all there seem is not always all there is.” She repeated the words to herself again. She had been submerged in her thoughts for the better part of an hour. Standing in front of the kitchen sink, jug in one hand while the other rested on the faucet about to turn it on but still stiff like a dried stem from a dying tree in the summer it remained.  On the kitchen table lay the coffee she was to prepare.  Hidden safe from moisture in a glass bottle with the label “coffee” boldly pasted on it. Beside it was another labelled “Sucre,” half filled with brown sugar and a little spatula lying inside of it. To her left lay the electric kitchen kettle with the lid uncovered, plugged to the socket outlet but turned off.  The fine aroma of her neighbour’s pork adobo filtered…

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