By seven the egg cups had already laid the morning's mail along the salt. Each yolk read its card twice, greeted the white with a small nod, and only then sat down in a round of gold.
We asked at the kiosk. "I used to tap the shell in a hurry," said a man with a butter knife. "Now I wait. They say hello to the white. They nod to the toast. Then breakfast begins, and not a moment sooner."
The next morning the same toast came back a little warmer at the edges and waited for its nod again. The kettle kept quiet until the yolk had taken its seat.