The central idea is simple: go to a storage warehouse, root out the most interesting-looking packing cases, track down their owners and watch the reaction as they sift through the junk. Tears, joy, it's all here as the stories flow freely with the discovery of each new (old) piece of memorabilia. One of the characters pulls out his old army boots, and with a memorable "These are the boots that I was blown up in", begins polishing them vigorously, before joyfully slipping them on. A woman, having stored all her husband's belongings after his death, breaks down in tears as she sorts through the boxes. You can sense the myriad memories locked up within the objects gathering dust on the warehouse floor.
Just as the taste of lime-blossom stirs up a vast recollection for Proust, so the rediscovery of junk and old photos recalls a past subdued but far from forgotten.