By seven the cocoa kiosk had set a ribbon of matchstick stairs against each mug, just tall enough for a marshmallow to climb without hurrying. The vendor warmed the cups first and only then nodded at the foam. "They go down, not in," she told the line. "A nod to the mug, and then they may become one little cloud. Not two. Never a heap."
We asked a woman by the kiosk who had come for a morning cup and stayed to watch the descent. "I used to drop them from a height," she said. "They landed bravely. They also landed all at once." A line in the thank-you notebook, in careful pencil, added: "The last marshmallow felt expected. Please keep the stairs."
The next morning the same woman came back with a spare napkin folded like a landing. She said the marshmallows had climbed down, the mugs had been nodded to, and one tiny step was still empty at the foam, as if it hoped a stray cloud might arrive for a sip.