Morning at the pier began with a ring of wet stones and a pause. An octopus set a cup of foam on the nearest rock, waited until the foam sat still, and only then passed it along one tentacle. The boat at the dock nodded once. The octopus took exactly one quiet sip and stopped, tidy as a guest who knows the length of a polite visit.
We asked at the kiosk by the gangway. "They do not gulp," said the woman who sells rolls and extra napkins. "Cup first, stillness second, sip third. If the foam has not settled, they wait. I wrote it in the complaint book, but it came out as thanks."
The pier keeper keeps a quieter sign beside the seaweed stack. "The napkins are only seaweed," he said. "Nothing tears that was not already going to float. The water gets a greeting, the boat gets a bow, and nobody hurries the next cup."