By midmorning the ice tray had turned into a cloakroom the size of a postcard. Each cube stood in its square, accepted a fur hat with earflaps, greeted the freezer as one greets a host, and waited for the empty glass on the counter to nod. Only then came a single polite clink, and never an encore.
A rumor on the landing said the cubes were late because they were sulking. The grocer next door shook his head and held up a lemon as if it were a witness. "They were only tying the straps," he told us. "Bare ears in a tall glass is considered rude."
The next afternoon a sparrow on the windowsill leaned in, approved the hats, and flew off. The tray sat a little closer to the glasses after that, as if the whole shelf had learned the order: earflaps first, then the drink.