The gaps in between. Short intervals in life we don't even give a shit to register & store in those nerve synapses. But we ignore the fact that they are the cement that keep our otherwise fragmented reality. beyond the routine, beyond the mechanical existence, beyond the bloody excuse we call life, it is these moments that we submit to eternal oblivion that glues us together & in fact are the "only" moments where we live.
Umberto Eco once referred to them as interstices. Artists like Tarantino have soaked them on celluloid too (remember Pulp Fiction: it is all about interstices ).