Breakfast is what we want. Off really that cafes don't open till 7.30 am. Waiting... OPEN! I watch her eat eggs. Scrambled. Quickly downing builders tea in dry mouthed thirsty gulps making time to clean her face from night, from sex larks sweaty marks. Her greasy smears are a fine base to paint on. She nurtures flowers and butterflies with a flick of her brush. She’s dressing her daytime self with magic.