Breakfast

A walks in. It’s morning for an entirely subjective sense of morning. It’s Sunday.

“Have we eaten yet?” A asks. We haven’t seen A since last night.

Her friend S comes into the room.

“We’re hungry,” A says.

We’re making breakfast. The chef of the meal adds Israeli couscous with dried cranberries and golden raisins to the menu because A and S are vegans and won’t eat the eggs.

Soon, seven of us sit down in the library to breakfast.

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