She doesn't remember how she started her collection. Perhaps from a phrase in a conversation he overheard while washing a sink? She soon noticed that (while dusting a living room or defrosting a refrigerator) people were telling her their stories. Maybe they always did, but now it's different, now the stories reach out to her and she pulls them to her...

When Janice takes it upon herself to clean the house of Mrs. B – a pompous and treacherous ninety-two-year-old – she finally meets a man who wants to know her own story. But Janice cuts it off: she's a story keeper, she doesn't have a story of her own. At least, not a story he can tell.

Mrs. B is not fooled, she understands that with Janice the issue is much more complicated than it seems. What does he want to hide? After all, doesn't every person have a story?