Watching the shard of light surrounded by shadow crawl slowly across the flat, smooth face of a distant building. Spooning with pita bread some spicy pepper hummus and chewing thoughtfully, mouth with slight, almost painful, burning sensation, but delighting in the pain and the flavor of pita and chickpeas. Compiling code in the background and swallowing spring water from a plastic cup, it chases the spicy breakfast, pushing it down to the pit of the stomach where the morning hunger is satiated. The phone rings and it’s Sherri, my love, my life, my everything, called to yell at me because I’d set her clock, not the alarm, by mistake, and when she awoke saw that it was after nine o’clock when in fact it was merely 7:45, and she was angry and tired, but relieved that she’d gotten up in plenty of time for work and breakfast and schmoozing with her caged cockatiel. And listening to the busses and cars and motorcycles race through the streets five stories below, and the honking of horns and police sirens and rushing ambulances and the occasional fire truck, and the pigeons perching on the window sill, cooing and shitting and delighting in the warmth of the stone beneath them as they groom their feathers and think simple thoughts of bread crumbs and worms and bums in the alley.