[He sets to making eggs. Retrieves the pan. Sets it on the burner. Grabs the eggs from the carton. Taps twice on the flat of the counter. Separates the shells. The sharp crack of it. Splits them over the bowl. Whisks with a fork. Pours a bit of milk. Keeps whisking. A rhythm to it. Repeated often. Not even interrupted by the hop up the counter, the lean and the lear and the lure of it all.
Butters the bottom of the pan. Watches it go from pale yellow to brown. Pours the eggs. Watches the steam hiss up. No hum to his steps, no tune to his voice. Practiced to the point of it seeming careless. A step and then the next. One after the other. Glances at him. The hang of jewelry that never catches. The cross of legs. The sleep still clinging to his hair.
no subject
Butters the bottom of the pan. Watches it go from pale yellow to brown. Pours the eggs. Watches the steam hiss up. No hum to his steps, no tune to his voice. Practiced to the point of it seeming careless. A step and then the next. One after the other. Glances at him. The hang of jewelry that never catches. The cross of legs. The sleep still clinging to his hair.
Considers it with a hum.
Retrieves the hot sauce from the cabinet.]