Any chat between old friends needs coffee, and I'd say these two need some. Too bad that jumbled mess in the background isn't some sort of extravagant brewing machine. Then again, it just might be, but what it appears to be brewing isn't something I would want to sip down.
An older page of cramped geometric absurdity. It's like someone found out family was coming over, panicked, and just shoved all their clutter into the nearest closet. "Ta-Da! See Honey, it does fit."
After a few surprise visits, we soon find that the nooks and crannies of our abodes are piled with the stuff that at one time was laying about, are now pressed for space to keep, fail to remember why we needed them to begin with, but cringe at the thought of letting them go. Then when we die, the family that came to visit gets to see what we didn't want them to see when we found out they were coming. Upon seeing it they then claim it, take it home, and throw it in a closet when someone knocks at their door for coffee and conversation.