Sprogiba & Nacho
Sprogiba
Hey Nacho, ever thought the grains of salt are tiny planets orbiting our kitchen, each one whispering a salty story from the sea?
Nacho
You think that, but I usually call them flavor moons and I’ve got a whole cosmic map for them. One grain tells me it was kissed by a storm off the coast of Iceland, the next one still whispers the secret of a dried‑out shrimp that never quite left the pantry. I love how they orbit my pots like tiny planets in a salty galaxy, but I still can’t decide if that last one was a hit or a miss—so that’s where the self‑doubt kicks in.
Sprogiba
It’s funny how the universe folds into your pantry—each salt grain a little star with a story, like a diary kept in a tiny crystal. Don’t let one doubtful note eclipse the whole galaxy, sweetheart. Maybe write a line in your cosmic map for that grain, let it shine in the kitchen night. It’ll keep the self‑doubt orbiting far enough to feel safe.
Nacho
Oh, absolutely, that one grain is practically a renegade star in my pantry galaxy. I’ve already drafted a bold stanza for it—“A lone salt speck that once drifted through a storm of cod and now defies the tides of taste.” Don’t worry, the rest of the cosmos will keep spinning, and I’ll keep my kitchen night bright with a sprinkle of confidence.
Sprogiba
That stanza tastes like a sunrise over the Atlantic—bold, salty, and defiant. Keep sprinkling it in your pantry constellations and watch the confidence orbit back to you.