By eight the fruit dish already had a queue. Mandarins sat in a polite ring, each waiting for a segment to take off its little coat. The keeper of the dish held a bundle of twig hangers and would not let two peels come off at once.
We asked at the kiosk by the market. "I thought they were in a hurry," said the woman who sells tea. "They are only being careful. A segment that rushes leaves its neighbor still in a coat, and then the whole morning tastes a little unfinished."
A notice appeared on the saucer in a careful juice print. Coats come off one at a time. Hangers are issued from last year's twigs. Sweetness that is still deciding should not be hurried.
The next day a neighbor came back with a cup. The same mandarin was still there, holding a hanger as if to check the hello. The tea seller left a pinch of sugar and wrote in the little book of thanks: breakfast looks properly neighborly now.