"Do you think things are too big these days?"

I look up at her. Her hair keeps falling down across her face. It is long and dark. Shiny. Somehow it reminds me of my mother, even though her hair is short and grey. I suppose this is always the way.

After a while I answer.

"Do you mean things are too large or too important?"

"Whatever."

I think about this for a while.

"Why do you ask?"

"Well, they're always saying that size isn't important."

"That's because all the big questions have already been asked."

She shifts her gaze, stares at the patterns in the curtains. Maybe she sees tigers, or maybe she just sees stains. I light a cigarette. After a while she looks back at me.

"But all the big questions don't have answers," she says.

"That's why they still ask them."

I look at her beside me, all hair and lips and eyes. Why are we talking?